Mind Games
by freeformchick
Summary: Ezra and JD are kidnapped and used as pawns in a dangerous game. Completed.
1. Chapter One

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TITLE: Mind Games

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AUTHOR: Freeformchick

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EMAIL: ares_sd@hotmail.com

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MAIN **CHARACTERS**: JD, Ezra, All Seven, Casey

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RATING: PG13

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WARNING: violence, profanity, slash

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SUMMARY: Ezra and JD are kidnapped and used as pawns in a dangerous game.

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DISCLAIMER: The Magnificent Seven don't belong to me, otherwise I'd be doing some unspeakable things with the boys :). They belong to . . . uh . . . whoever they belong to; to tell the truth I don't always pay attention to that part of a TV show. See the other disclaimers; I'm sure they'll tell you who M7 belong to. Also, the ATF universe was created by Mog. I don't know her and have never spoken to her, but she has my undying gratitude for making such a fun universe for the boys.

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COMMENTS: any character you don't recognise is probably mine. If you want to archive this, please ask or at least notify me, so I know where my work is going. Also, I am Australian, so my grammar and spelling will reflect that. For example, Chris will be blonde instead of blond, and there will be fewer 'z's.

Chris Larabee stood at the observation window, gazing blindly through the glass. Unconsciously flexing his fists, feeling the deep need to go and pound something until his knuckles bled. He was angry, angry enough to do serious damage to the first person who crossed him. But beneath the anger was another emotion, far less destructive but far more unpleasant.

Fear.

Buck Wilmington and Nathan Jackson lay motionless in the hospital beds, separated from him by the glass. Monitors beeped, nurses entered the room every two minutes to draw blood, check vital signs, all the motions that he could recite by rote. One of the nurses glanced at him sympathetically on her way out, but didn't approach him. He didn't blame her; he was sure he looked angry enough to lash out at anyone who so much as spoke to him.

Bandages swathed Nathan's shoulder and chest, and ugly stitches crossed his left calf, hidden by the blanket but still there. Buck's right arm was in a cast, and bruises discoloured every centimetre of exposed skin. Neither man had woken, and Chris knew that the longer they were unconscious, the worse their chances of recovery were.

Chris was far from uninjured himself, though he'd be damned if he'd admit it. The doctors had pestered him to get his knee checked out, but he refused to allow them to do more than bandage it before he came to the ICU to watch over his partners. The fact that he could barely take a step without his vision swimming was the only thing that kept him here in the hospital instead of out on the streets, where he should be.

He was unable to take action, and infuriated by that fact. He was helpless to aid his two friends who both lay unconscious in the ICU. And he was unable to help Josiah and Vin in their search for the two remaining ATF agents.

The sons-of-bitches who'd put Nathan and Buck in hospital had taken JD and Ezra.

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It had seemed like a routine job. A snitch had given them the time and location of a transaction between a big-time weapons dealer they'd been after for a long time and her supplier. They'd checked out the place, marked in their minds all the areas that ambushes could come from, and had lain in wait themselves. Strategically placed; Chris, Josiah and Buck concealed inside, in perfect sight of the target area but virtually invisible. Vin outside on surveillance; they needed his keen eyes watching in case something went wrong. Nathan with Vin, in case the younger man needed backup in the event of a fight. JD and Ezra in different parts of the warehouse complex, also in sight of the target area but well-hidden, JD with the video camera that would tape the transaction, in case some jumped-up lawyer decided that seven ATF agents weren't telling the truth. All the exits watched.

In the middle of the transaction, one of the hulking men who had accompanied the dealer began to whistle. Incongruously, the tune of _Ode to Joy_ floated through the dead warehouse air. The dealer and supplier ignored him; the other bodyguard shifted and slipped his hand inside his jacket.

"Shit!" Chris hissed. "They're onto us. JD, Ezra, get out of here," he snapped into his radio. "Vin, Nathan, we got a problem. They know we're here."

_"The whistlin'?"_ Vin's voice came back through the radio, obscenely loud.

"It's a signal. Get out of here!"

Gunfire, everywhere. The dealer and her men didn't know where they were, but they seemed to be trying their damnedest to hit something – _anything_ – in the dim warehouse. There was no salvaging this operation; the best they could hope for would be for them all to get out alive and relatively unhurt.

Ricochets were the most danger right now, especially to Vin and Nathan. Vin had chosen his vantage point well for the purpose of surveillance; the roof of the warehouse was cluttered with protrusions, giving him the perfect hiding place. Chris wasn't sure whether the rotting wood and rusted corrugated iron would stop a bullet.

There were only five opponents that they had to face; the dealer and her two bodyguards, and the supplier and his single guard. The trouble was, each bodyguard was at least the size of Josiah, and Chris couldn't be sure of backup. He'd ordered Ezra and JD out, and while their help would be welcome he hoped that for once they'd had the sense to obey his whispered order. Nathan and Vin would have a difficult time getting from the roof with any haste. He, Josiah and Buck were alone, at least for now.

"Nothing for it," Chris muttered, unholstering his pistols. "We've got one thing going for us; they don't know exactly where we are. Let's use that advantage while we can."

They leaped out of hiding, guns blazing. Took the dealer's men by surprise, coming from behind, and dropped one on the spot. Chris could hear a commotion outside and hoped it was just Vin having a disagreement with the harbour-master over whether he could, in fact, enter the old warehouse, but knew that it was more than that. And then his attention was wrenched back to the fight at hand.

The supplier's goon, it seemed, preferred fisticuffs to guns, and was determined to have at least one opponent fight him in his preferred way. Moving with more agility than his size gave him credit for, he'd kicked Buck's weapon from his hands and engaged the agent in a fierce battle, more akin to a barroom brawl than a fight to the death in a dim warehouse.

The dealer's bodyguards were keeping Josiah pinned down with incessant bullets fired into the wall he was sheltered behind. He managed to squeeze off a few shots, but couldn't come to Chris and Buck's aid without being shot. The supplier had vanished, which left the dealer for Chris.

The woman had more talent with a gun than Chris had assumed. Chris was continually force to duck behind bits of rubble, barely keeping ahead of the dealer. Already he sported two grazes from near misses, nearer than he liked. The dealer stalked behind him, firing shots at Chris whenever she so much as glimpsed him.

The commotion outside was still going on, Chris realised vaguely. It had gone on far too long for it to be a simple disagreement between Vin and the harbour-master. He hoped Vin and Nathan were all right, and that was all the thought he could afford to give his friends. It worried him that he still hadn't heard from JD or Ezra, but he had to trust that they could take care of themselves and concentrate on getting himself out of this mess.

"Here, pup," the dealer crooned. "Why're you running? Surely you're not scared of a two-bit dealer like me?"

Chris ignored her and fired a shot, narrowly missing the woman's shoulder. The dealer chuckled and continued forward.

"Silly move, pup. When you're trying to hide, you don't go and make a noise. Just told me where you are, you did."

Her words sent a shiver down Chris's spine. Was the woman trying to sound insane, or was that really how her mind worked? Did she see humans as animals?

_"Chris – taken out – Nathan – hit – "_

Vin's voice echoed through Chris's radio, distorted and broken by static. Chris could hear gunfire and Josiah swearing, could hear the meaty sound of flesh on flesh. Buck screamed in agony. He could hear the dealer's lazy drawl, getting closer.

He fired off another shot, missing the woman in the darkness, sunlight barely making it through the grime-encrusted windows. And then he heard the _click_ that told him he was out of bullets.

"Damn it."

The dealer appeared, much closer than her voice had seemed. She smiled.

"Hey there, pup. Teeth been pulled, I see."

Holding her own gun trained on Chris, the dealer approached. She was a medium-sized woman, no match for Josiah or Buck unless her physical strength was as surprising as her prowess with her gun. Well-dressed – Ezra would approve, Chris thought wryly. Ezra might see some sense of twisted justice, being cut down by an opponent with fashion sense, at least. Chris felt nothing but anger at an empty death, and regret that he wouldn't be able to help his team.

The dealer was within arms reach now. Chris prepared for the bullet that would end his life.

It didn't come. Fast as lightning, the dealer lashed out with a sharp kick to Chris's right knee. The snap and sickening crunch preceded a wave of shocking pain that forced the blonde agent to the floor, gasping in pain. He looked up at the woman with vision swimming from pain.

The dealer smiled again and lifted her gun in a kind of salute. "You lead a good hunt," she said. She raised her voice. "Boys, I reckon Samuels is waiting for us. You want to finish up there?"

She knelt next to Chris and caressed his face with the still-hot muzzle of her gun, drawing a hiss as the overheated metal burned his skin. "Let me tell you something, pup. If it was up to me, I'd kill you here and now." She dug her fingers into Chris's damaged knee, eliciting a strangled cry of pain. "Knee like that, it's not worth keeping a hound alive. The dog just suffers needlessly. But Samuels, he wants to play a game. And he pays well enough that I'll play by his rules, for now at least."

"What game?" Chris forced the words through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the fire in his knee. The dealer grinned.

"You ever seen foxhounds at work? They follow a scent admirably. Always wanted a foxhound, myself. A dog like that can find whatever it's set on, as long as it knows what its prey smells like."

She stroked Chris's face with the gun again, her free hand keeping enough pressure on Chris's knee that the ATF agent was in no position to fight her.

"Samuels fancies a game. We'll give you the scent, once you get your men taken care of. And you, like the good little foxhound, follow the scent – if you can."

She stood and began to walk away. Chris mastered the pain long enough to ask, "What are you talking about?"

The woman turned slightly, enough for Chris to see the sadistic smile on her face.

"Think about it. You'll know what I mean soon enough. It's strange you haven't already, though; a hound always knows, when he doesn't hear the howling of his packmates, that they're missing."

She moved off into the dimness, calling for the bodyguards. Chris dragged himself to his feet and tried to put weight on his damaged knee. His leg buckled and he collapsed with a crash, sending dust flying like a miniature mushroom cloud.

"Josiah? Buck?"

"Comin', Chris. You injured?"

Chris almost wept with relief at hearing Josiah's voice. "Yeah, I am, kinda. You? And Buck?"

Josiah's answer was terse and concerned. "I'm okay; a couple grazes, that's it. I'm worried about Buck; he's unconscious. Beat as all hell, and I think his arm's broken. That goon knew what he was doing. Can't say for sure, though; Nathan knows more about this than I do."

Josiah's voice had gradually come closer as he spoke, and at his last words he appeared to Chris's right. He took one look at Chris's damaged knee and swore.

"Damn, Chris! That's gotta hurt like hell."

"It's slightly uncomfortable, yes. Get outside and see if Nathan and Vin are okay, then call an ambulance for Buck. Check on Ezra and JD, too . . ." Chris trailed off as the dealer's words registered.

_"A hound always knows, when he doesn't hear the howling of his packmates, that they're missing."_

"Shit! Josiah, they've got JD and Ezra!"

"How do you figure that?" Josiah's voice was alarmed, and he stopped in his tracks, looking back at Chris.

"The dealer – she said something about a game. Said she was gonna give us the scent, and we'd have to follow it . . . damn it, Josiah, they're gonna make us play some twisted game using JD and Ezra as bait! I should have known it was all a set-up!"

"How were you supposed to know that?" Josiah asked, keeping his voice level and calm. "We were all suckered by this, Chris, and it's no use blaming yourself. You can't walk on that knee, so I'm going to do what you said, check on Vin and Nathan, and call an ambulance for you and Buck."

He held up a hand, stilling Chris's protests. "And yes, you are going to the hospital. I may not have Nathan's expertise, but even I can tell that knee is dislocated, possibly broken. I'll personally track down the bastards who took JD and Ezra – if they _did_ take JD and Ezra – and tear them new breathing holes."

His voice was still perfectly calm, and the threat seemed out of place. Chris blinked, and by the time he'd gathered his senses Josiah was gone.

"Goddamnit."

He hoped he was wrong, that the dealer had just been screwing with his mind. But if they didn't have something else planned, why let him and Josiah live? Why just mangle Chris's knee when the dealer could have shot him dead where he stood?

No, as optimistic as Josiah had tried to be, Chris knew that his fears were true. The dealer – and probably the supplier as well, he realised with a sinking heart – had two of his agents at their mercy.

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Vin and Josiah returned to the hospital late in the afternoon, having lost the trail deep in the city. Chris was still standing outside the ICU, gazing at Buck and Nathan. Buck's obvious damage was less extensive than Nathan's; other than bruises, all he really had to show for his fight was a broken arm, whereas doctors had had to dig bullets out of Nathan's shoulder, chest and calf. Buck had internal injuries, however, that could still result in complications. The doctors were still worried about both men and had them under constant surveillance, instructing each changing shift to inform them as soon as Nathan and Buck awoke.

Nathan and Vin had been set upon by six armed men outside the warehouse, yet Vin was sure the men hadn't been trying to kill them. If their attempts had been serious, both he and Nathan would be dead. And he had escaped with nothing more than a wrenched shoulder that was already feeling better thanks to some heavy-duty painkillers that the doctor who had examined him had prescribed. That didn't help the pain he felt elsewhere, pain that had nothing to do with injuries. He was scared for JD and Ezra, sure, but there was a deeper fear involved: the fear that he was going to lose the man he loved without confessing that love.

_'Damn it! Why did I have to wait so damned long? Why did I have to be such a coward with my own feelings?'_

Chris turned and looked at Josiah and Vin. "Nothing?"

Vin shook his head. "There's no trace of them. It looks as though we're gonna have to wait until they're ready to contact us."

"Damn it. How the hell were JD and Ezra taken so damn fast?"

Vin held up a small dart. "Tranqs. I found this where Ezra was supposed to be, an' there were signs of a struggle in JD's area." He hesitated, unsure as to whether he wanted to tell Chris the worst news.

Chris noticed his hesitation. "Spit it out, Vin. What else did you find?"

"Blood," Vin said reluctantly. "Not a lot of it. But it was there."

Chris closed his eyes for a moment, then asked, "JD or Ezra?"

"We don't know for sure it was either of them. It could be their abductors' blood."

"Don't bullshit me, Vin. You know its theirs. Now, tell me: JD or Ezra?"

Vin sighed. Neither option was good, and he hated having to be the one to tell Chris.

"JD. If it was one of them, it was JD's blood."

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To be continued


	2. Chapter Two

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Ezra felt . . . dreadful. His mouth tasted as though something had crawled inside and died, and his head throbbed like that terrible music JD liked to listen to. Not to mention there was a spot on his chest that ached terribly. He wasn't sure how he'd come to be in this deplorable state, but somebody was going to pay. He suspected that somebody might be Buck and his liquor cabinet.  
  
Now, what were his options this morning? He could get up, but that didn't sound particularly appealing right now. He could stay in bed - ah, the perfect choice. Sleep would cure the headache and that foul taste in his mouth.  
  
Although now that he thought about it, his bed wasn't usually this hard. Or cold. And there most definitely shouldn't be the sweet, coppery scent of blood in his bedroom.  
  
This meant something bad had happened.  
  
Ezra lay still and thought back. He remembered the stakeout - Chris telling him and JD to leave - why? Oh, yes - their cover had been blown. Somehow the dealer and supplier had known they were there.  
  
How odd. He was perfectly calm as he thought about what had probably caused his friends' deaths. Perhaps that was the cause for all the incongruities - perhaps one or more of the Seven had been killed, and he had gotten completely plastered and passed out in his living room, hitting his head as he fell. That would explain the hardness and chill, his headache and the scent of blood.  
  
No, the taste in his mouth wasn't the taste that accompanied a hangover. It was decidedly medicinal. And the ache in his shoulder was still unaccounted for.  
  
Was that it? Had he been injured during the bungled stakeout?  
  
No, that was also wrong. Hospital beds might not be entirely comfortable, but they were infinitely more comfortable than this.  
  
He turned his thoughts to what he could hear, feel and smell, not really wanting to open his eyes at the moment. Very well - what could he smell?  
  
Dust. The musty smell that came from water on concrete. Sweat. Blood.  
  
So, he was not at his home. There was no way he would let his place get so dusty. Next, what could he feel?  
  
Not a lot, it turned out. His feet were as far removed from his body as the moon for all he could tell, and his hands were very nearly the same, save for a slight ache in his left hand. He could feel the cool concrete against his cheek as he lay there on his back, his head tilted to one side. A line of roughness on his neck, though he couldn't for the life of him decide what it was. If he weren't the type to wear silk ties instead of cheaper ones, he'd think that perhaps his tie was too tight, but silk didn't feel that rough.  
  
That left what he could hear.  
  
His own breathing, and heartbeat. That was a relief, he thought sardonically. Next - a far-off drip of water. That would explain the musty smell of water on concrete. There was something else - breathing. Not his own. He strained his ears, and made out two separate breathing patterns. Two people, then.  
  
An amused chuckle met his ears.  
  
"Have you quite finished, Mr. Standish?"  
  
Ezra opened his eyes and sat up at the sound of his name. Attempted to sit up, at any rate. A sharp tug at his neck stopped him. He was suddenly aware that his hands were bound in front of him.  
  
"I wouldn't advise moving too quickly, Mr. Standish, unless you have contrived a way to breathe without the benefit of a windpipe."  
  
Ezra's sight was slightly blurred, but he could make out a dark shape seated not too far away. He blinked rapidly, and his vision began to clear. Enough for him to recognise the man as Jake Samuels, the supplier. A man who manufactured more weapons than any man should ever see in his life.  
  
Samuels, a small-boned, almost delicate man with pale hair and cool grey eyes, was seated on a roughly-hewn wooden stool, dressed in casual dark grey slacks and a black shirt. He was leaning forward slightly, looking at Ezra with attentive eyes. There was something else reflected in those eyes - a shape not far from Ezra . . . the shape of another supine man.  
  
Ezra turned his head slightly to peer beside him. A dark-haired form lay not a metre from him, hands bound together in front of him with duct tape, a rope snug around his neck and tied to a large metal ring set in the concrete floor.  
  
Ezra's heart sank. JD.  
  
He turned back to Samuels, taking care not to move his head enough to jerk the noose around his own neck. The grey-eyed man was watching him impassively.  
  
"I assume there is a purpose to this?" Ezra asked, forcing his voice to stay calm. Samuels smiled.  
  
"Of course, Mr. Standish. My colleague and I are playing a game with your associates. You and Mr. Dunne are the bait."  
  
"You can't possibly think that my associates will be taken in by such a flimsy ruse, or allow you to dictate their actions, even under duress."  
  
"On the contrary, Mr. Standish, I know that they will play this game, because if they don't they are going to be receiving pieces of yourself and Mr. Dunne in the post for several weeks. Accompanying these packages will be videotapes, so that your associates will know that the two of you are being kept alive and can feel every bit of agony as I remove another body part to send to them. After a few such packages, I am sure they will reconsider their stand."  
  
Ezra swallowed, forcing the gory images from his mind. Samuels seemed amused by his reaction.  
  
"However, I'm sure it won't have to come to that. Ashley is providing the first clue as we speak, and I will soon find out whether your friends are willing to play. Until I'm sure, you and Mr. Dunne will have to remain here. I apologise for the lack of comfort, but . . ." he spread his hands in a gesture of mock sympathy and helplessness. Then he stood, brushing off his hands. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Standish, I have plans to execute. I'll return when it's time for me to contact your friends."  
  
Ezra watched him stride out, unnerved by the man's use of the word execute. The heavy click as the door closed told the Southerner that it was locked - not that he was in the position to escape anyhow. He turned his head again to look at JD, and noticed for the first time a white bandage around the young man's upper arm. He called JD's name, but received no response save JD's regular, even breathing. That was something, at least; he seemed to have merely been knocked out, not unconscious from blood loss or drugs.  
  
With a sigh, Ezra turned his attention to the tape binding his hands.  
  
**************************************************************************** *********  
  
It had been four hours since Ezra and JD had been taken. Vin had bullied Chris into letting the doctors give his knee a proper examination, and their leader was now sitting on the edge of a bed with a bulky bandage around his knee, glowering at Vin. The sharpshooter met his gaze calmly.  
  
"You know I was right to make you see a doctor, Chris. You can't help Ezra an' JD with a dislocated knee. Now stop glarin' at me an' -"  
  
A nurse, entering the room, interrupted him. "Mr. Larabee, someone called the front desk asking for you. Do you want me to transfer the call here?"  
  
Chris looked startled but nodded. The nurse smiled and returned to the front desk, pressing a button on the telephone. Chris picked up the phone in the room and snapped, "Larabee."  
  
"Hello, Mr. Larabee. I hope your knee is feeling better," a male voice said. "I'm afraid Ashley was rather . . . impulsive, this morning. I understand Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson have yet to wake up. My condolences. I know what it is to be at risk of losing a colleague."  
  
"Enough small talk," Chris snapped. "Where are JD and Ezra?"  
  
"My, you are focused. A videotape will be arriving in approximately ten minutes. Watch it. It will give you your instructions."  
  
"Wait! Damn it . . ."  
  
A dial tone filled Chris's ears. He slammed the phone down and looked at Vin and Josiah.  
  
"That was the bastard who has JD and Ezra. He's sent us a videotape with our 'instructions' on it. Says it'll be here in ten minutes."  
  
Josiah immediately left in search of a TV and VCR. Vin asked urgently, "Did he say anythin' about JD an' Ezra?"  
  
"No. Nothing."  
  
Josiah returned a few minutes later with a TV on wheels, having cajoled the nurse into letting him borrow it. He spent the next several minutes hooking up the various cords and fiddling at the back, refusing to make eye contact with either Chris or Vin. They could hear him praying quietly.  
  
Chris got off the bed and began to pace, limping due to the stiffness and pain in his knee. His progress was halted by Vin's hand on his chest. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.  
  
"You want something, Vin?"  
  
"Yeah," Vin said firmly, "Sit. Now."  
  
Chris did so, complaining, "I'm supposed to be the one doing that, Vin. God knows I've done it to you and . . . JD . . . often enough."  
  
"You don't like being on the receivin' end, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to try an' keep us in bed," Vin shot back, ignoring Chris's hesitation at speaking JD's name. He was as worried about JD and Ezra as Chris was, but he recognised that until the man who held them captive sent instructions, there was little they could do to help their friends. Keeping Chris from flying off the handle and injuring himself further was important, since he'd be no help at all if he was stuck in a hospital room.  
  
A few minutes passed before a youth dressed in a courier's uniform knocked on the open door. "'Scuse me. Nurse says there's a Mr. Larabee in here?"  
  
Chris nodded and the boy moved forward with his clipboard, a brown paper package tucked under his arm. "Sign here, please."  
  
Vin studied the boy, wondering if he was a part of the whole mess. He looked young - seventeen or eighteen, perhaps; a few years younger than JD - and innocent; but then wasn't that what JD was always complaining about? That he looked so young that nobody would take him seriously as an ATF agent? This boy was different, though, Vin decided; he moved naturally, showing no sign that he knew what he was delivering. He no doubt had no connections to the man holding Ezra and JD, and was just doing what he was paid for.  
  
Chris scribbled his signature on the clipboard and took the package from the courier. The boy smiled and chirped, "Have a nice day!" before leaving the hospital room, nodding politely to the nurses on duty.  
  
God, he reminded Vin of JD. Which just made the sharpshooter want to track down his missing friends all the sooner.  
  
Chris tore open the paper, shoved the unlabeled video into the VCR and pressed 'play'. Josiah had the foresight to close the door to their room, so that they could view the tape uninterrupted. They had no idea what they would see, and had no desire to upset the nurses or doctors. Chris sat on the edge of the bed, looking as though he was about to explode into action. Josiah took one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, while Vin paced behind them both, his eyes fixed on the screen.  
  
The screen was blank for an unbearably long moment before flickering to life. Jake Samuels, the supplier, sat on a wooden stool, a strange smile on his face. They could see the man operating the camera reflected in his eyes, but no details were clear. When he spoke, Chris said tightly, "He's the one who called."  
  
"Good . . ." he checked his watch, "morning, gentlemen. Although it's evening while you're watching this, isn't it? By now I'm sure Mr. Larabee has informed you as to the situation involving Mr. Dunne and Mr. Standish. Naturally you're concerned about their wellbeing, so allow me to put your fears to rest."  
  
The camera panned across a featureless room - concrete floor, whitewashed walls, a faint dripping noise. Vin stopped pacing and canted his upper body slightly forward, as though imprinting every detail in his mind. As the camera stopped, Josiah let out a low moan and Chris thanked God that Buck wasn't here to see this.  
  
Ezra and JD were both lying on their backs on the concrete floor, their hands duct-taped in front of them. JD's upper arm was bandaged and a bruise discoloured his right temple. A lopsided circle of blood stained Ezra's shirt near the shoulder. Both men had rope nooses around their necks, attached to a large metal ring embedded in the floor, and both were clearly unconscious. Ezra's jacket had been removed, and neither agent wore shoes or socks.  
  
Samuels continued, "As you can see, Mr. Dunne and Mr. Standish are relatively unharmed, aside from injuries received while we were accosting them. That can - and will - change if you decide to ignore what I tell you and attempt to locate your associates on your own. If you disobey my instructions, you will be receiving parts of Mr. Standish and Mr. Dunne for the next several weeks. And I will keep them alive until the time I send you their heads."  
  
Chris swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to imagine the sounds of Ezra and JD screaming as Samuels hacked off parts of them. The man on the video chuckled, as though he could see Chris's reaction.  
  
"I'm sure that has convinced you to cooperate with me. Now, these are your first instructions. There is a certain man living in this city that I wish to get in contact with. His name is Jason Cummerford. You have until midnight tonight - which, I believe, is six hours away - to locate him. A telephone number, an address, an email, I don't care what. You will find a way for me to contact Jason Cummerford. At precisely midnight, you will be at Mr. Tanner's apartment. I will contact you there, to take the information and to give you further instructions."  
  
The camera panned back to the still-unconscious forms of Ezra and JD as Samuels added, "And gentlemen, don't even think of trying to find us. You may notify the proper authorities, if it makes you happy, but they will be unable to find me either. The only way you will know that your friends will continue to be in one piece is if you obey my orders perfectly. And do take care of Mr. Jackson and Mr. Wilmington. If you violate my instructions, you will need them to prevent your team being named the Three Musketeers."  
  
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Ezra struggled with the tape around his wrists until his skin was raw and bleeding. Samuels had been gone for the better half of the day - Ezra had kept track of the passing time, since Samuels hadn't thought to take his watch - but try as he might, he couldn't budge the tape wrapped around tightly his wrists. Even his teeth hadn't been able to rip the tape, though he suspected his orthodontist would be rather angry with him at his next appointment.  
  
When he stopped fighting the tape, he noticed JD watching him with tired eyes. "What're you doing, Ezra?"  
  
"I am attempting to facilitate our escape," Ezra replied, letting his hands fall back down. His arms were sore, and his efforts had caused the rope around his neck to chafe his skin. He could feel a slow, warm trickle of blood down the side of his neck, and the abraded skin beneath the rope burned.  
  
"How'd we get caught?" JD asked. The note of confusion in his voice alarmed Ezra. He glanced sharply at JD and was concerned to see the slight glaze of his eyes, the dilated pupils.  
  
"Judging from the ache in my shoulder and the blood on my shirt, I seem to have been neutralised though the utilization of a tranquiliser dart. Do you recall how you were captured?" Ezra asked, keeping the concern from his voice. It wouldn't do JD any good to know that Ezra was worried about him.  
  
"I heard a noise behind me," JD replied slowly. "I guess they must have hit me with something . . . my head kinda hurts."  
  
"What happened to your arm?"  
  
JD turned his head far enough to see his arm, wincing at the scrape of the rough rope over his skin. He seemed surprised at the bandage.  
  
"Not sure. I guess I got shot . . . can't feel it, though. I think they might've given me something."  
  
"A local anaesthetic, actually, Mr. Dunne."  
  
Ezra and JD started at the unexpected voice, coming from behind them. Samuels strode into view, followed by the dealer - Ashley Caine - and one large man who was probably Samuels's remaining bodyguard. Caine was a taller, stronger-looking person than Samuels, though she seemed somehow less dangerous. That is, until Ezra saw her eyes.  
  
A shudder ran through the Southerner. Caine's eyes were the eyes of a madwoman.  
  
Samuels hooked the stool with his leg and smoothly sat down, gesturing for Caine to do the same. The dealer shook her head, pacing the width of the room, moving in and out of Ezra's sight. It made Ezra nervous, not being able to keep his eyes on the mad-eyed woman.  
  
Samuels smiled. "It's nearly midnight, gentlemen. Soon I'll be contacting your friends to make sure they've procured the information they've been spending the past six hours running around like chickens with their heads cut off to get for me. I'd hate for that to have been a show, as it means I'll be forced to show them what happens when they disobey my orders. I'll be giving them their new instructions, and if they've done as I asked, they'll be allowed to speak to you. Before you get any ideas, Ashley is going to be here the entire time, and she does so love to use that gun of hers."  
  
Ezra felt the noose around his neck tighten and he tensed apprehensively. Miraculously, the rope loosened and went slack. Samuels added, "You and Mr. Dunne have been lying here on a cold concrete floor for the better part of ten hours. Thought we'd let you stretch your legs - and take care of some business. I'm sure you know what I mean. Mikhail here will take you to the bathroom one at a time."  
  
Hands on his shoulders hauled Ezra to his feet, and the noose tightened once again. He turned his head slightly and saw the end of the rope in the guard's hands, reminding him uncomfortably of a dog's leash. The muzzle of a gun pressed into the base of his neck, urging him forward. He glanced at JD, still lying flat on his back, and the younger man forced a smile. The guard nudged Ezra with the gun again, and the Southerner took a step towards the door that Samuels had indicated. The concrete was freezing against the soles of his feet - it explained why he couldn't feel his feet earlier. The chill had sunk bone-deep, making his steps awkward.  
  
The guard removed his gun from Ezra's neck when they reached the door. He pushed Ezra forward and said, "You've got five minutes."  
  
Ezra seized what he hoped was an opportunity to get free, holding up his hands. "This is going to be awkward with my hands bound like this."  
  
The guard looked bored. "You'll manage. Go. Now."  
  
Sighing, Ezra entered the small room and kicked the door closed behind him. They afforded him that much privacy, at least. The room was utilitarian; a shower in one corner, the toilet in another, a sink between them. He was grateful for the opportunity to make use of the bathroom, however; ten hours was a long time for any man to resist the call of nature.  
  
Unzipping his pants was difficult with his hands bound, even though they were at least in front of him. Washing his hands was even more difficult, especially since the soap was extremely slippery and threatened to escape several times. He eventually managed to turn the taps back off and dry his hands on his thighs before knocking on the door. The guard pulled it open and took hold of the rope again, jerking Ezra back to the larger room.  
  
The new perspective of the room didn't give Ezra any inspiration as to how they could escape. Windowless, it could have been below the ground or ten floors up for all he knew. He didn't have long to scrutinise his surroundings before the guard took him to one wall, where more metal rings were embedded in the plaster. He jerked the gun at Ezra and said, "Sit."  
  
Ezra obeyed, seeing no other option. The man tied the end of Ezra's 'leash' to one of the rings, checking the knot carefully before moving to where JD was and untying the younger man. JD received the same treatment as Ezra - escorted to the bathroom at gunpoint and given five minutes' privacy - before he, too, was brought to the wall and tied in a sitting position. It was infinitely better than being forced to lie prone, but neither man could move far without the noose around his neck jerking him up short.  
  
Samuels hadn't moved in the short time Ezra was out of the room, but Caine was still prowling the room. Now that he could see more of the room, Ezra could see a table with a new-looking phone sitting on it. Samuels looked at his watch and said, "Well, I'd say it's time."  
  
He dialed a number and sat back to wait. The phone was answered on the first ring, and a familiar voice snapped, "Larabee."  
  
"Mr. Larabee. Good to see that you can follow instructions. I trust Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson are still with us?"  
  
"Cut the crap, Samuels. Where are my men?"  
  
Samuels laughed. "All in good time, Mr. Larabee. Did you get my information?"  
  
"Yes." Ezra could hear Chris's frustration and anger in that single word. "Now let me talk to my agents."  
  
"Very well." Samuels looked at JD. "Say hello to your friends, Mr. Dunne."  
  
"JD? You okay?"  
  
JD licked his lips and answered, "I'm okay, Chris. Got a headache, and my feet are kinda cold, but nothing bad."  
  
"They haven't hurt you or Ez?" Chris pressed.  
  
"We're okay," JD repeated. "You're gonna give yourself a heart attack, Chris."  
  
Samuels turned his gaze to Ezra. "And now Mr. Standish."  
  
"Ezra. You all right?" Ezra could hear a thousand questions in that one query, not the least of which was 'where are you and how can I get you out?' Unfortunately, he had no idea how to answer the unspoken queries and instead answered the spoken one.  
  
"I am as well as can be expected, Mr. Larabee, as is Mr. Dunne. Circumstances have conspired to make our situation somewhat less than comfortable, but I am confident that you and our other friends will presently be rectifying that situation."  
  
Vin muttered in the background, "Geez, Ezra, you couldn't just say 'I'm okay, get us out of here'?"  
  
Ezra's mind was only half on what he could hear through the telephone; he was also watching Caine, who was steadily coming closer during her pacing. She was tapping a knife against her thigh as she walked, and her eyes were fixed on the two captives.  
  
Samuels had turned back to the phone, turning his back on the captives. "Now, Mr. Larabee, you have obtained the information I require. Your next exercise is as follows. There is a park downtown, with a fountain in the middle. Young men and women enjoy congregating there," he said, sounding far older than his twenty-odd years. "Tomorrow at nine a.m., Mr. Tanner will take the information to this park, alone. If either you or Mr. Sanchez leaves the apartment, I will take it as a violation of my instructions and act in kind."  
  
Ezra eyed Caine nervously. The woman was barely ten steps away from them. Samuels continued, "Mr. Tanner will see a young man sitting by the fountain. Undoubtedly he will be the only person his age awake at the time, so Mr. Tanner should have no problems locating him. He will have blonde hair, and will be wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Mr. Tanner will give the information to him, receive an envelope in return and go back to the apartment. Within the envelope will be your next set of instructions."  
  
Caine knelt beside JD and raised the knife. She ran the blade down JD's jaw. JD shuddered and pulled away from Caine, but the woman grabbed JD's chin in her free hand and pressed the knife deeper. Droplets of blood formed around the sharp blade, eliciting a whimper from JD. Ezra hissed, "Leave him alone, Caine!"  
  
The weapons dealer turned to Ezra, her eyes dangerously hard.  
  
"Dogs shouldn't bark at their owner," she snapped, moving with lightning speed and striking the Southerner hard. Ezra couldn't help the exclamation of pain that escaped his lips as he was sent sprawling and jerked up short by the rope around his neck. Through the ringing in his ears, he vaguely heard JD cry out in alarm, and Chris's furious voice across the line.  
  
"What the hell are you doing to them, Samuels?"  
  
The rope, pulled tight by Ezra's momentum, made it hard to breathe. He gasped for breath, shocked by the harshness of the choking sounds that escaped his throat, and clawed at the rope with his bound hands. Caine loomed over him, knife in hand, and aimed a kick at his chest, snapping, "Some beasts just have to be taught how to behave."  
  
Unable to do much to defend himself, Ezra raised his hands to protect his head and tried to avoid the worst blows, still struggling to breathe as the rope dug into his flesh, feeling as though it was ripping right through his throat.  
  
**************************************************************************** ********* 


	3. Chapter Three

Thanks to the reviewers; I hope this lives up to expectations!

*************************************************************************************

"What the hell are you doing to them, Samuels?" Chris demanded, hearing Ezra's pained outcry and JD's alarmed protest. Choking sounds came across the line, and the sound of something hard connecting with flesh. The three listening ATF agents could hear Ezra strangling, could hear JD yelling at Caine.

__

"Ashley! We need them alive, in case you hadn't remembered," Samuels said acidly, apparently talking to someone else in the room with him, Ezra and JD. The sounds of blows stopped, though they could still hear Ezra's painful struggle to breathe. JD's panicked voice came over the line.

__

"Samuels, you gotta let me help him!"

Apparently Samuels acceded, because the next thing they heard was JD saying, _"C'mon, Ezra. You can breathe now. Samuels, let me take this fucking noose off him!"_

Vin had frozen at the word 'noose'. Chris snarled, "Samuels! Damn you, if one of my agents is hurt there _will_ be retribution!"

__

"Calm down, Mr. Larabee. My associate got a little over-enthusiastic in remonstrating with Mr. Standish. Ashley feels that your friend's words were . . . impolite. Mr. Standish will be all right."

"He'd damn well better be."

__

"Any damage will be superficial. Now, Mr. Larabee, I recall were discussing your next instructions."

Vin spoke up, swallowing his horror at the thought of JD and Ezra with nooses around their necks. "I take the information to a guy waitin' by the fountain in the park. Nine a.m. Chris an' Josiah stay here. He gives me new instructions. I come back here. Is that about right?"

Samuels chuckled, and Chris felt a hot surge of anger. _"You listen well, Mr. Tanner. Yes, that is right. Don't be late. My young man won't wait forever, and I'd hate to have to harm your friends because of your tardiness."_

"Don't worry. I'll be on time," Vin said, speaking more to JD and Ezra than to Samuels, hoping that his friends could hear him.

__

"I'm sure you will, Mr. Tanner. That is the extent of your instructions for tonight, gentlemen. I hope that when I contact you again I won't have to let you hear the pain of your friends."

"Wait! Let me talk to JD or Ezra . . . make sure they're really okay," Chris pleaded, hating the note of desperation in his voice. But he couldn't get Ezra's choked cry out of his head, or JD's panicked voice. Samuels sighed.

__

"I suppose that is a reasonable request. Mr. Dunne, kindly assure your employer that you and Mr. Standish are both still with us."

"We are, no thanks to you and your damned 'associate'," JD said. _"If Ezra's hurt bad, there won't be anything left for Chris to deal with by the time I'm done."_

Vin moved forward. "JD? What happened there?"

__

"Caine . . . she came over and started running a knife down my face. Cut me a little. Ezra yelled at her to stop, and Caine went mental. Attacked Ezra. Samuels got her to stop, but Ezra's hurt pretty bad. He's unconscious."

"Does he have any head injuries?" Vin asked. JD paused, obviously checking Ezra, then answered.

__

"Don't think so. That's something, at least. I sure wish Nathan was here, though."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then JD spoke again, his voice small.

__

"Vin? I heard Chris, and now you. Where are Josiah and Nathan? And Buck?"

"Josiah's right here," Vin told the younger man, glancing uneasily at Chris. "Buck an' Nathan . . . Buck an' Nathan were hurt durin' the bust."

__

"Jesus! Samuels, scratch what I said before, Chris ain't getting any joy from beating up on you. I'm gonna claim that right for myself."

JD's voice, while steady and even, was full of hate and fear. Vin said hastily, "The doctors think they're gonna be okay, though. Don't worry."

__

"They better be okay," JD said threateningly, speaking more to Samuels than Vin. _"If one of those men dies, there's no place that'll hide you."_

"That's quite enough, Mr. Dunne," Samuels snapped. _"I gave orders for your associates to be hurt but not fatally, and anyone who disobeyed those orders will be punished. I do not take kindly to threats. Mr. Larabee, that will have to satisfy your concern. This call is over."_

The dial tone was loud in the silence. Chris broke the silence by throwing the receiver and bursting into a string of curses, storming to the other side of the room and hitting the wall. His hand went through the plaster, sending a small explosion of plaster flakes out from the wall.

Vin sighed and went to his friend, taking Chris's hand and examining it for damage. The knuckles were bleeding sluggishly and the back of Chris's hand was scraped, but the damage didn't seem too bad. He glanced at Josiah. The other man was putting the information for Samuels in a large envelope, seemingly calm, but the tension of his large shoulders made it clear that he was just as angry as Chris was. Come to think of it, smashing a wall seemed like a good idea to Vin as well. But it wouldn't help matters any.

"Hoops."

Chris turned. "What's that?"

"Hoops. We're just jumpin' through his goddamned hoops."

*************************************************************************************

The sky was brightening in the east when Vin left the apartment. He carried the large envelope with him, containing the information they intended to give Samuels.

It was a tricky plan that they were hoping to pull off. Even after almost six hours of looking, utilising the most advanced technology they had available, they'd been unable to find anyone in the city going by the name of Jason Cummerford. So, in lieu of actual information, Chris had decided that they would fabricate the information. He'd contacted a friend, asking him to pose as Jason Cummerford in case Samuels did try to get in contact. They'd left out an actual address, but had created a false email account and lent the man Josiah's cell phone, since Josiah rarely used it anyway. Vin had no idea if it was going to work, but he sure as hell hoped so. For JD and Ezra's sake if not their own.

It was still a few hours until he had to meet the messenger at the fountain. He'd left a note for Chris and Josiah, not wanting them to worry, but he'd been going stir crazy in the apartment. He wasn't used to staying indoors so much. So instead of hanging around his apartment and quietly going mad, he was outside, wandering around like some sort of wayward spirit. But at least he was moving, not stuck somewhere. Not like JD and Ezra.

Fuck. Everything was making him think about JD and Ezra. He felt guilty that they were the ones to be taken – even though Samuels had probably targeted them specifically – because he should have been in the warehouse providing backup. He felt guilty that Nathan had been hurt so badly; he should have been watching the older man's back. He knew that these feelings of guilt were useless and that there hadn't been a thing he could have done to change what happened. He knew that Chris and Josiah probably felt as guilty as he did. He also knew that knowing that didn't make him feel any better. And knowing that his indecision might have cost him the chance to confess his true feelings . . . that just about made him feel worse than he'd ever felt before.

He, Chris and Josiah had talked about a plan of action the night before, after Samuels had hung up on them. Hearing Ezra strangling, JD's panic, had made them determined to find their missing friends before the next night fell. Vin had gone to the ATF office – explaining his presence there to the security guard had been awkward – and picked up some of the surveillance equipment Ezra had had shipped in several weeks ago, from one of those many contacts of his. None of the other agents knew where the equipment had come from, but JD had been in raptures about how high-tech and 'cool' the stuff was. Ezra had given them a demonstration of one of the bugs, and they'd all been impressed with its range and ability to pick up even the smallest noises.

Vin had taken a few of the bugs and some other equipment before heading back to his apartment. He'd been tempted to use his stealth to avoid the security guard, but figured the man might get suspicious if he didn't see Vin leaving. He'd gone out the same way he entered, grinning a goodnight to the guard on his way, and promptly returned to the apartment where he found Chris and Josiah practically biting their fingers off with nervousness. Apparently they'd thought Samuels might try to take Vin as well.

His cell phone rang ten minutes before he was due at the fountain. He answered and had to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened by Chris's furious diatribe.

"Chris, calm down. I'm okay, I just had to get out. I was going crazy there," Vin explained, knowing that it was useless. Chris in this sort of mood wasn't the most reasonable man around.

__

"You put yourself in danger, and probably JD and Ezra as well!" Chris shouted. _"We agreed that we wouldn't take any unnecessary risks."_

"An' I didn't. Samuels isn't interested in capturin' me, Chris. He's got the bait he needs, now he wants the rest of us to keep jumpin' through his hoops. If he wanted to capture me, he could have done it at any time yesterday. I was alone – or as near to it as to make no difference – when Nathan was injured yesterday, an' when Josiah an' me were out lookin' for Ezra an' JD. He doesn't want any more bait, Chris."

__

"You can't know that for sure. Do you have any idea how uninformative that note you left was? Josiah and I had no idea whether you'd just gone out for coffee or had been forced to write it at gunpoint!"

Vin sighed. "Chris, I'm gonna be late if you keep yellin' at me. Why don't we just say that I'm ashamed of myself an' leave it at that? I'll take a dressin'-down later, but right now we have other things to worry 'bout."

He hung up, knowing that Chris would have his head later. Glancing at his watch, he realised that he'd been telling Chris the truth; it was now five minutes before nine. Luckily his wanderings had taken him fairly close to the park, and the remaining distance was easily traveled in less than five minutes.

He arrived at the fountain and looked around. A youth with longish blonde hair sat on the edge of the fountain. He wore jeans and a battered leather jacket, and had both hands stuffed in his pockets. Vin watched him for a moment before approaching; something about the boy struck him as odd. Finally, he walked forward.

The young man looked up. "Are you Vin Tanner?" he asked. His accent was odd; he spoke slower than normal, and with different emphasis on vowel and consonant sounds. He was small, too, looking far younger than what Vin figured had to be eighteen or nineteen.

"Yeah, I'm Tanner. You the kid I'm supposed to give this information to?" he asked, his voice harsher than he'd intended. The young man snickered slightly, as though amused by Vin's anger.

"Yeah. You got it here?"

Vin held up the envelope. "Tell me one thing. Why the hell did someone as young as you get involved with Samuels?"

The youth chuckled again. "Had a slight misunderstanding with the police back home. Jake was there, stopped them from beating the shit outta me because I was too mouthy for my own good. I figured I owed him."

"So why do you stay with him?"

"That's two things, Mr. Tanner. You only said to tell you one thing. Now give me the envelope and I'll take it back to Jake. Then you'll get your new instructions."

Vin handed him the envelope, frustrated that he wasn't going to be able to appeal to the kid's better nature. The youth nodded and put the envelope in his bag. He got up and headed over to a motorcycle, calling over his shoulder, "Be seeing you, Mr. Tanner."

*************************************************************************************

Ezra slept late, realising even in his unconscious state that waking held little joy that day. It reached the point, however, when his body refused to stay unconscious, and he reluctantly returned to consciousness.

His torso and shoulders ached from the assault by Caine the day before, and his throat felt as though he'd been stepped on by a football player. His hands were still taped, but oddly he couldn't feel the harsh rope against his neck. His body was still lying on concrete, but his head rested on something softer and rather warm.

He opened his eyes to see JD looking down at him, absentmindedly kneading his sore shoulders gently, soothing the aching muscles. Ezra realised that his head was resting on JD's legs, and that the noose which had been strangling him yesterday lay discarded, several metres away. The inside of the rope was coated with dried blood, and Ezra unconsciously moved his hands up to his throat, touching the raw skin. JD still wore the noose around his neck, though it was slightly looser than it had been yesterday. The younger man smiled tiredly.

"I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. How're you feeling?"

"As though I attempted to best Josiah in a fight," Ezra replied, his voice hoarse and painful. He began to sit up, but the abused muscles in his abdomen and back protested the movement so fiercely that he gasped in pain and fell back onto JD's legs. JD moved his careful massaging to Ezra's stomach, using just enough pressure to ease the pain a little.

"Easy there. I don't think you're in any shape to be moving around right now. You think you can handle some food, or is your throat too sore?"

"How did you contrive to find food, Mr. Dunne?" Ezra asked. After ending the call with Chris the night earlier, Samuels had proceeded to get very drunk with Caine, leaving the hulking guard to watch over the captives. That their captor would supply them with food or water was a surprise; usually people who were off their faces didn't have that much foresight.

"I asked one of the guards to get something for us," JD replied, looking uncomfortable. He shifted slightly, tugging his shirt down, and snagged a plastic bag that sat not far away, the movement clumsy with his hands still bound. Opening it, he took out paper bags from which exuded the familiar smell of fast food.

"Huh. He went to a McDonalds to pick us up breakfast," JD muttered, opening one of the bags and taking out a paper-wrapped object. "I know it's not what you normally eat, Ez, but you think you can manage this?"

Ezra took a small bite of the muffin-type _thing_ that JD handed to him and swallowed, choking down a scream as the food scraped his tortured throat. He carefully rewrapped and replaced the item in the paper bag, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid my throat seems to be opposed to the idea of anything solid," he said regretfully. It _had_ been over twelve hours since he last ate, and the smell of the fast food, though certainly not something he would normally partake of, was torture.

JD frowned and looked in the plastic bag again. "The guard musta figured that you'd be too sore to eat much. He brought some orange juice."

That was easier to swallow, though the very act of contracting the muscles in his throat made Ezra want to scream. JD wolfed down his portion of the food and leaned back against the wall to watch Ezra drink, concern still clear on his young face.

"Ez? The pain gets too bad, you tell me, yeah? I'll ask the guard to bring something for it."

Ezra frowned. "You seem to have a lot of faith in this guard's kind-heartedness, Mr. Dunne."

JD looked down. "He'll get us what I ask for."

Ezra puzzled over those words and came to an alarming conclusion. "You promised him something in return for assistance?"

JD sighed. "Yeah."

"What did you promise him?"

"Nothing I wasn't prepared to give," JD insisted, shifting again, tugging his shirt down. Ezra caught the motion and swiftly pulled the garment up, baring JD's stomach.

Three cuts scored the skin, obviously no more than two or three hours old. They weren't large enough to be dangerous, but were clearly painful. JD pushed Ezra's hands away and pulled his shirt down over the cuts, looking annoyed.

"Damn it, Ez, you weren't supposed to see that."

"You shouldn't have done that, JD. It wasn't worth it," Ezra snapped, forgetting to use what Buck termed 'five-dollar words' in his concern for JD. "Promise you won't let that guard touch you again."

JD bit his lip. "I can't, Ez. The guy says that if I ask for anything – even if it isn't from him – he'll take it as a request. That's why he cut me three times this morning. Once for asking Samuels to let me help you, once for asking for your noose to be removed and once for asking him to bring some food for us."

Ezra was going to reply, but his head _really_ hurt. His throat hurt, too. He vaguely remembered JD insisting that Ezra tell him if the pain got this bad, but he also remembered that JD had made a deal with the guard, and that if JD asked for something the guard would cut him again. Besides, JD was talking to the boy. And Ezra didn't really want to talk, because his throat hurt so much.

Ezra blinked. Why were there black areas in his vision? That wasn't normal, was it? And why was his mind so fuzzy? He couldn't focus on anything. He tried to bring his hands up to his face to rub the soreness from his temples, but for some reason his limbs wouldn't obey his commands. He managed to choke out, "JD."

The younger man turned to him immediately. "Ez? What's wrong?"

"Not . . . feeling too . . . good."

JD's worried face filled his vision, but the younger man's visage was marred with the growing black spots. JD waved his hand in front of Ezra's eyes and frowned when he saw the little response that his action earned.

"Ez? Your head hurting you?"

Ezra managed a small nod, though the movement sent a shockwave of pain through his head. His entire body was aching. Perhaps if he slept, he would feel better in the morning. He let his eyes close.

"Shit! Ez, don't go to sleep. Nate always says to make sure a patient with a head injury stays awake, in case of a concussion or brain injury," JD rattled off, his voice rising with panic. "Samuels, you've got this place bugged, get a damn doctor in here! You have to know that if Ez . . . Chris and Vin'll kill you if Ez is hurt bad. Please, get some help for him!"

The door opened an agonisingly long five minutes later and Samuels entered, followed by one of the guards and a tall, well-dressed man carrying a briefcase. Samuels looked down at Ezra with concern in his eyes and said to the man, "See to him, doctor. I need them alive."

The doctor knelt beside Ezra and began examining him, running his hands over the bruises on his chest and stomach to check for internal bleeding. His touch was firmer than was comfortable on the tender areas and JD had to stop himself from lashing out at the man when Ezra let out soft moans of pain and pushed the doctor away with his bound hands. JD didn't like this man who was working for Samuels, but he realised that the doctor was Ezra's only chance for medical treatment and that he had to calm his friend so that the doctor could find out what was wrong with him.

He gently pulled Ezra onto his lap, cradling the wounded man's shoulders and stroking gently, smoothing the pain from his muscles. He glanced at the doctor, who nodded his thanks and continued his examination, before turning his attention back to Ezra. He began to speak softly, remembering the way Buck always soothed him when he was panicked in the ER or injured on an assignment.

"It's okay, Ez. The doctor needs to check whether you're bleeding inside, and that's gonna hurt a little bit, but he'll fix you up once he's done. Just relax."

He let his words be accompanied by calm strokes of his hands, though the movement was difficult with his wrists still bound. He looked at Samuels; the man had said he needed his captives alive. There might be a chance that JD would get what he was about to ask for.

"Can you please take this off?" he asked, holding up his bound wrists. "The door to the room is locked, and I'm not gonna run and leave Ezra here when he's injured. I'm still wearing the noose, and you can fix it so I can't get it off, but I need my hands if I'm gonna be able to help Ez and keep him calm."

Samuels tugged at his lower lip thoughtfully, his eye son JD and Ezra. The doctor continued working, and every now and then Ezra moaned again, too out of it to do more than weakly push at the man.

"Samuels, please. He's gonna be disoriented, and if he wakes up and his wrists are still tied, he's gonna panic and hurt himself. The same if he sees my wrists taped."

Samuels nodded. "Very well. I'll be taking steps, however."

"Fine, just get this tape off of us."

The weapon supplier knelt and pulled out a pocketknife. JD held Ezra's arms steady as Samuels cut through the duct tape on the injured man's wrists, then held still as Samuels gave him the same treatment. The tip of the knife nicked his wrist, but the injury was barely worth looking at.

JD shifted slightly, maneuvering Ezra into a more comfortable position. He used one hand to gently stroke Ezra's hair while the other massaged feeling back into his hands, carefully skirting the torn skin from where Ezra had fought the tape the day before.

The doctor moved on to examining Ezra's head, fingers moving deftly through the agent's hair to search for hidden head wounds. He jerked suddenly and his hands came away smeared with blood.

JD inhaled sharply. Head wounds were often deceptively mild, or so Nathan had told him, hiding damage inside. He didn't know how he'd missed the injury in his earlier examination of his fellow agent, but if it had been bleeding since the night before . . . he looked at the place where Ezra had been lying and bit his lip. There was blood; not a lot of it, but the wound had obviously reopened during the night.

The doctor took some instruments from his briefcase and looked at JD. "Keep him still. I'm going to clean the head injury; hopefully it won't get infected. His brain is probably swollen, which would account for his dizziness and lack of lucidity. I'll need to keep pressure on the injury to stop the bleeding, but it's not large enough to require much care. The possibility of him bleeding into his brain is what worries me."

"How can you prevent that?" Samuels demanded. The doctor spread his hands helplessly.

"I can't. If it's happened, there's nothing I can do about it. I wouldn't keep him in this room, though; a head injury requires rest and warmth, neither of which are to be found here."

Samuels tugged at his lip again. "All right. I'll have him moved. Mr. Dunne, I expect you'll want to be with your injured comrade so I will allow that as well, after I've taken some precautions against your causing trouble. Stefan, please go fetch Mikhail and Gregor. You and Gregor can help the doctor take Mr. Standish to his new room. Mr. Dunne, you'll be coming with Mikhail and I for a few moments. Then I'll allow you to return to your friend."

JD leaned down and spoke to Ezra. "The doc's gonna take you to a more comfortable room now, Ez. I gotta go somewhere else, but I'll be back soon, I promise."

The other agent opened his eyes and sought out JD's face. "Mr. Dunne . . . don't do anything . . . foolish."

JD chuckled, despite their situation. "Sure thing, Ez. I won't do anything you wouldn't do."

"Then you are . . . not restricted . . . much."

JD patted Ezra's shoulder. "You still got a sense of humour, so you can't be injured that bad. I'm gonna go now, but I'll be back before you know it."

He stood up and looked at Samuels. The supplier nodded to one of the guards who'd returned with Stefan and the man moved behind JD, a strip of cloth in his hands. JD knew what was coming, but it was still a shock to have the cloth wrapped around his head, over his eyes, and tied firmly. Samuels spoke.

"Come with me, Mr. Dunne. Mikhail will make sure you don't bump into anything or trip on anything."

He felt hands grip his shoulders, and a tug at his neck as Samuels evidently began to walk. Ezra cried out in alarm, and JD automatically turned. "It's okay, Ez. I'll be back soon."

He was guided out of the room and along a corridor. Echoes gave him the impression that it was a very long, very empty corridor and the chill in the air hinted at plain walls and a tile floor. His bare feet hit what felt like tile floor; it was cold and smooth enough to be tile, anyway. He was uncomfortably reminded of movies where you see the doomed man being walked down a long, empty corridor, towards his execution.

Another door opened, and he was guided inside. The guard – Mikhail, Samuels had called him – had his shoulders in a grip that seemed unnecessarily hard. Mikhail was the guard he'd made his deal with, JD recalled. JD's request for help for Ezra meant another cut on his stomach – two, if the man counted JD's request to have their hands freed, which he undoubtedly did. That made five.

He was pushed into a chair, and after a few minutes the blindfold was removed. Samuels stood in front of a large stainless steel cabinet, searching for something in a deep drawer. Mikhail's hands were still on JD's shoulders, and the ATF agent could feel the guard's breath on the back of his neck, making his hair move and tickle his ear. Mikhail whispered, "Five, Agent. You owe me two more now."

JD nodded slightly, figuring that disagreeing with the man was probably a bad idea. Mikhail, unlike Samuels, only ever addressed the captives as 'Agent', and even those words were rare; he usually just glowered. JD got the impression that Mikhail had been doing this for a lot longer than Samuels's age implied.

Samuels turned back around, a strange contraption in his hand. A leather collar with metal ribbing, and a lock set flush with the leather at the back. The man demonstrated how the lock worked; the collar tightened before coming apart. Two patches were set into the collar on the inside, so that they'd be touching skin when the collar was on, and a small metal box was attached to the front. In his other hands, Samuels held a small device that looked too much like a remote detonator for JD's comfort.

"This is what you're going to wear, to ensure your cooperation and that of Mr. Standish. His throat is obviously too sore to take a noose or collar, so I'm afraid you will have to be my insurance against his misbehaviour," Samuels explained. He touched the patched. "These are attached to small tubes within the collar," touching the metal ribbing which JD now saw was hollow, "which are in turn fed into this," touching the box. "Inside the box is a chemical I had made up several years ago. Its symptoms are much like those of appendicitis, as it effects the abdominal organs more than the heart or brain, until the last days. The death that results from a full dose is often quite lingering, and always painful.

"The box contains enough of the chemical to dose a small army. This device is the remote, through which I can release as much of the chemical as I see fit. A smaller dose will cause quite intense abdominal pain that will last for several hours. If you or Mr. Standish does something that I feel needs to stop, you will know. And I will expect you to rectify your behaviour.

"The collar also has a failsafe. Should someone attempt to pick the lock, the box will release a full dose of the chemical. In that eventuality, your death would take something in excess of five days. The final day will be the worst."

JD swallowed, looking at the deceptively thin-looking collar in Samuels's hands. It was the only way he'd be able to keep them untied, though, and quite possibly it would mean Samuels would accede to other requests. Besides, when Chris, Vin and Josiah came to rescue him and Ezra, they could take the key from Samuels and get the contraption off.

He held still as Samuels approached, hardening his resolve. He had to do this, for Ezra's sake as well as his own. But as that collar came closer, all he could see was the small metal box that held enough deadly chemical to kill him a hundred times over. His will crumbled and he tried to pull away, the rope at his neck pulling tight as he moved his head.

Mikhail's left hand tightened on JD's shoulder as his right one lifted and came into view, armed with a knife. The knife dipped towards JD's neck and he cried out involuntarily at the touch of cold steel to his skin, then relaxed as he realised Mikhail was only severing the rope, then returning the knife to wherever he kept it.

And all the while that collar kept getting closer. JD would swear Samuels was approaching as slowly as possible to draw out the torture.

Mikhail dug his fingers into JD's wounded arm. As a wave of agony washed over him, he was helpless to do anything but gasp at the intensity of the pain. Blackness swamped his vision for a few moments, and he barely felt the touch of the leather and metal on his throat, so deep was the pain. He vaguely heard Samuels speak.

"That is enough, Mikhail. I need him to be able to tell me if it gets too tight for him to breathe properly."

The cruel fingers were removed from his injured arm, and JD let himself slump back against the chair, gasping as the pain receded. His vision cleared, and Samuels was standing in front of him, his hands at JD's throat – on the leather collar.

"Mr. Dunne, I am going to tighten the collar. I want you to tell me when it gets too tight for you to breathe easily."

JD nodded, afraid that if he spoke his voice would give away his fear. Samuels moved behind him – _That's right, the lock is at the back,_ JD remembered – and the leather began tightening. Mikhail kept his hands firm on JD's shoulders, as if expecting the agent to try and escape.

The metal was cold on his skin, the leather rough and slightly irritating. Samuels kept tightening the collar until JD gasped, "Stop, please. That's enough."

Samuels loosened it a tiny bit and JD could breathe normally again. He heard the click as Samuels locked it around his neck, and then the man moved around to stand in front of JD again. He took out his pocket knife and took JD's chin in his hand, lifting the agent's head so that he could see his throat better, and ran the knife along the edge of the leather. He held the flat of the blade against JD's skin and pressed slightly, until beads of blood popped up around the blade and JD gasped in surprise. Then he put the knife away and smiled. "Good. A knife won't fit below the leather without cutting into you, so there's no chance that those dermal patches can be removed. Now, Mr. Dunne, I will return you to your friend. But remember, if you or he does anything out of line, you will know first-hand what that chemical can do."

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	4. Chapter Four

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Vin, Chris and Josiah stared at the piece of paper that had been in the envelope that Scott had given Vin. It had two words on it.

__

"Strike One."

"What the hell does that mean?" Chris demanded, holding the paper so tightly that it crumpled and tore. Vin looked puzzled.

"I'm not sure." Vin frowned. "What I don't understand is how Samuels knew what to write before we gave him the information."

"The false information," Josiah said uneasily. "Do you think he knew that we were giving him fake information when he called last night? He's definitely watching us, otherwise he wouldn't have warned Chris and me to stay here this morning. Maybe he knows that we couldn't find any Jason Cummerford in the city."

Chris's cell phone ran. He grabbed it and snapped, "Larabee."

__

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Larabee. I thought we understood each other. And instead I find you trying to fool me with fallacious information. This does not do much for the spirit of trust."

"What the hell does 'strike one' mean, Samuels?" Chris demanded, ignoring the ominous words. Vin and Josiah listened, trying to figure out what Samuels was saying from Chris's terse words.

__

"You lied to me, Mr. Larabee. That is your first strike. You'll be receiving a package this afternoon. It will contain a videotape and new instructions. You'd do well to watch it the entire way through; it contains some information that I'm sure you will find enlightening."

"Have you even tried to contact Cummerford?" Chris asked, grasping at straws. Samuels laughed.

__

"Jason Cummerford does not exist, Mr. Larabee. At least not in this city. I knew that, and instructed you to find him to see whether I could be sure of your honesty. It appears I can't. And I'm afraid Mr. Dunne and Mr. Standish will pay the price for your deception."

"Wait! We were doing what we thought would keep JD and Ezra uninjured," Chris said desperately. "What was I supposed to do, Samuels? For all I knew, if I said there was no Cummerford in the city you would have killed them. I was trying to keep them alive."

__

"That may be so, but you attempted to deceive me, and I will not let that go unpunished. If ever you cannot fulfill my instructions, Mr. Larabee, you would do well to tell me so, instead of trying to deceive me."

"Damn you, Samuels."

__

"No doubt, Mr. Larabee," the man said affably. _"Tell me, is Mr. Sanchez nearby?"_

"Why?" Chris asked suspiciously. He glanced at Josiah, who raised his eyebrows in response and waited.

__

"Tell him to go and watch over Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson. It wouldn't do for them to wake up alone. You and Mr. Tanner will have to take over following my instructions. I would advise doing as I say, Mr. Larabee. You don't want to make your friends' pain any more prolonged than it must be."

Chris clenched his fists in impotent anger. "Why are you doing this, Samuels? What's in it for you? You ask us to locate a non-existent man, send my men on fool's errands, for what? What is it that you want?"

Samuels laughed softly. _"This is a game, Mr. Larabee. I thought you would have realised that by now. I am doing this because it is entertaining for me."_

"Entertaining? Damn it, Samuels, most people go to movies or something for entertainment! They don't kidnap and torture people!"

There was a pause before Samuels spoke again. _"Do you have any idea what it is like to have a genius's IQ, Mr. Larabee? Have you ever thought how utterly frustrating it must be to be so far beyond everyone around you that you can't even interact with them normally? To know the answers to the puzzles that rule their lives. To be so far ahead of the world that even books by Tolstoy, Aasimov, the greatest authors of history are like children's storybooks. Do you have any idea how long a day can seem when you are far more intelligent than normal people?"_

Chris swallowed, stunned by the man's questions. Samuels continued, _"I don't imagine you do. Well, Mr. Larabee, I do. I know all of that. And that is why I do this. Human beings are the one thing that no amount of intellect can predict. We react differently, depending on upbringing and temperament and countless other little idiosyncrasies that make humans **unique**. I could play this game a thousand times over, with a thousand different players, and each time the reactions would be different. The next time I play, my players might just admit that they couldn't find the man I asked them to find. The one I send to meet Scott might kill him, just to show me that they can hurt me too. It is a fascinating process, the human mentality, and it is one of few things that has any entertainment value for me anymore."_

"You're doing all this because you're _bored_?" Chris asked incredulously. Samuels seemed to be considering his question before answering.

__

"That is a rather blunt way of putting it, but I suppose so, yes."

"So if this is all a game, why do you need to hurt Ezra and JD?" Chris asked, trying to reason with the man. Samuels's laugh sent chills down his spine.

__

"Don't be fooled by my choice of words, Mr. Larabee. After all, Russian Roulette is also a game."

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JD looked up as Samuels and Mikhail entered the room he and Ezra had been taken to. It was smaller than the previous room, but it contained a bed large enough for the two of them and was warmer than the concrete room. Ezra was sleeping. His fever was low, and the doctor didn't think that there was anything to worry about. JD had been sitting and watching him since returning two hours earlier.

Mikhail walked over and jerked JD to his feet. "Come with us, Agent," he said roughly, tying a blindfold over JD's eyes again. The long march down the corridor reminded JD anew of being walked to his execution, and he had to stop himself from shuddering in Mikhail's grasp.

He was taken into another room, guided to a chair and the blindfold was removed. He blinked as the light hit his eyes and glanced around. He was sitting in front of a table, and Samuels was on the other side. As he watched, Samuels opened a briefcase and took out a vial and syringe.

"What's this about?" JD asked, a note of nervousness in his voice despite his efforts to sound unconcerned. Samuels didn't answer; drawing some of the straw-coloured liquid from the vial into the syringe, he replaced the vial and turned to JD.

"This will keep you conscious, long enough to make the point anyway."

Those words sent a shudder of fear through JD. Mikhail's hands tightened on his shoulders as Samuels stood and approached, the evil-looking syringe glinting in his hand. He knelt beside the chair and angled the syringe at JD's throat.

JD jerked away, cursing as Mikhail's fingers found his wounded arm again. The huge guard clamped one hand around JD's injured arm and with the other grabbed JD's chin. His fingers pressed into JD's jaw as he angled the agent's head up, baring his throat like a sacrifice about to be killed.

Samuels plunged the syringe into JD's throat. The pain was negligible compared to the pain JD had felt two hours earlier when Mikhail had exacted his payment for JD's requests, but it was still a foreign object in his neck and cause enough to be alarmed. Mikhail's hand on his jaw prevented him from moving, and the angle was restricting the flow of oxygen to his lungs. Black spots danced in front of his vision. Then Samuels pulled the syringe out, Mikhail released JD's jaw and JD could breathe properly again.

Samuels returned to his seat behind the table. He looked past JD and spoke.

"Mr. Larabee. As you can see, I have selected Mr. Dunne to participate in this demonstration. Mr. Standish is currently a little unwell, and my medical staff tell me that it would be inadvisable for him to join us this afternoon."

JD twisted around in the chair and saw another hulking guard, this one holding a video camera. He realised with a sinking feeling that Samuels was sending a tape to Chris, and that he was probably there to provide subject matter that would be sure to infuriate his employer.

Samuels continued talking. "As I said, I don't appreciate being lied to. Mr. Dunne will show you what happens when you attempt to deceive me."

He held up the remote and pressed a button. For an instant, JD dared to hope that the collar didn't work. Then he felt two burning patches on the sides of his neck, and a lance of pain shot through his chest.

"Oh, God. What is that?"

"That, Mr. Dunne, is the chemical in your collar. Just a small dose, enough to show Mr. Larabee exactly what happens when he lies to me. Unfortunately for yourself, the effects of the chemical are only just beginning."

After the initial lance of pain as the chemical entered his body, the effects were slow to show themselves. JD felt a gradual heat rising in his abdomen, as though he'd contracted a 'flu or some other virus and was running a fever. This was much faster than a normal fever, however.

He looked down at his hands and noticed them shaking. A sudden spasm shot through his arms and hands, the muscles tightening in response to the foreign chemical in his bloodstream. His fingers curled in to claw at his palms. His legs jerked as the same muscular spasms worked their way down his back and legs. He kept his seat with some difficulty; Mikhail had removed his hands from JD's shoulders and had gone to stand by the wall, watching impassively.

A bolt of pain speared through his stomach, like a bullet tearing through him. He curled forward and tensed the muscles of his abdomen as tremors ran through his shoulders and back. He clenched his teeth against the whimper that threatened to burst from his throat, determined not to give Samuels the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

A shaft of fire ignited inside him, so suddenly that JD couldn't keep back the startled scream of pain. His concentration was shot, so that the next bout of spasms that wracked his body sent him crashing to the floor, instinctively wrapping his arms around his stomach in a futile attempt to ease the pain. His arms and legs jerked spasmodically, out of his control in the grips of the chemical.

He heard Samuels talking, but the words didn't make any sense as his body thrashed. Moans and cries escaped his throat without him intending to make a sound; he'd told himself that he could endure anything Samuels put him through, as long as he didn't cry out, but he hadn't figured on his own body betraying him.

Spasms made the muscles in his back so rigid that curling into a ball to relieve the cramping of his stomach was out of the question. The muscles in his legs contracted until his calves were almost touching the backs of his thighs. His back arched and his arms jerked, joints cracking. His entire body jerked as though in the throes of a fit.

JD didn't know how long it went on. After the first few minutes, his mind was overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the pain, and he didn't even hear Samuels talking anymore. After an indeterminate period of time, he felt hands under his shoulders and knees, and movement. No blindfold this time; whoever was carrying him seemed to know that he wasn't in any condition to know or care where he was being taken. The sound of a door being opened registered, and he was unceremoniously dumped on a bed. The jolt sent waves of pain through him, and he gladly embraced blackness.

*************************************************************************************

The next video arrived at four p.m., wrapped in plain paper and addressed to Chris. An envelope came with it, instructions written on the outside telling them not to open the envelope until they'd watched the video. It was only Chris and Vin left, now at Chris's ranch; Josiah had done as Samuels had ordered and returned to the hospital, though while he was there he intended to look over everything they had on Samuels, to try and figure out where he might be keeping JD and Ezra. The idea of Buck or Nathan waking up alone was repugnant to all three men, and Josiah knew that Vin would better be able to deal with Chris than he could.

They put the tape in the VCR and steeled themselves for the worst. Vin was pacing, unwilling and unable to sit down long enough to watch the tape. Chris was seated on the couch, leaning forward as though his proximity to the VCR would make a difference to its content.

The tape began with an image of a small room. Two chairs sat on either side of a table, both empty. The door opened, and three men walked in. A tall, muscular man that neither agent recognised. Jake Samuels. And JD Dunne.

As he was guided to one of the chairs, Vin and Chris could see that JD was wearing an evil-looking leather collar with a small metal box set in the front. The guard removed the blindfold that had been covering the agent's eyes as Samuels sat down in the other chair. The supplier removed a vial and syringe from the briefcase, ignoring JD's query, and drew some of the straw-coloured liquid into the syringe before turning to the agent who was being held in place by the large man behind him. Samuels's next words chilled Vin to the core.

__

"This will keep you conscious, long enough to make the point anyway."

The guard angled JD's chin up, baring his throat, and Samuels stuck the syringe in. He returned to his seat and looked directly at the camera.

__

"Mr. Larabee. As you can see, I have selected Mr. Dunne to participate in this demonstration. Mr. Standish is currently a little unwell, and my medical staff tell me that it would be inadvisable for him to join us this afternoon."

The mention of Ezra being injured sent bolts of anger through both watching agents. JD turned and gazed at the camera, slight confusion registering on his face. Vin swore under his breath and continued pacing, his speed slightly faster as Samuels continued talking.

__

"As I said, I don't appreciate being lied to. Mr. Dunne will show you what happens when you attempt to deceive me."

He held up a remote and pressed the button. For a few moments nothing happened, then JD's voice broke the silence, slightly shaken.

__

"Oh, God. What is that?"

"That, Mr. Dunne, is the chemical in your collar. Just a small dose, enough to show Mr. Larabee exactly what happens when he lies to me. Unfortunately for yourself, the effects of the chemical are only just beginning."

The guard moved away from JD and stood by the wall, watching impassively. JD's hands started to shake. The tremors worsened, moving to his arms and legs. The watching agents could see JD's jaw clench as he struggled to keep from crying out.

"Goddamnit," Vin growled, his hands clenching into fists as a scream escaped JD's throat. JD crashed to the floor, doubled over and clutching his stomach, arms and legs jerking spasmodically. Samuels spoke again.

__

"This is what happens when you try to lie to me, trick me or otherwise go against the spirit of cooperation," the man said, looking down at JD, who seemed not to notice Samuels's words. The agent was convulsing as though he was having a fit, soft cries and moans of pain filtering to Vin and Chris through the bad quality of the tape. Both men were intensely glad that the others, especially Buck, weren't watching this tape.

Samuels looked at the camera again. _"You will find your next instructions in the envelope that came with this tape. I suggest that you follow them to the letter, unless you want to receive another tape of Mr. Dunne suffering. Of course, I could use Mr. Standish next time, or simply fulfill my promise as to what will happen if you don't cooperate. I'm loath to begin sending you parts of your agents, but rest assured that if you continue to try and deceive me, I will do whatever I have to in order to convince you that you should act otherwise."_

The tape stopped. Vin silently slit the envelope with a letter-opener and pulled out a piece of paper.

"What does the bastard want us to do this time?" Chris asked through gritted teeth. Vin wordlessly handed him the piece of paper. Chris read it out loud.

__

"Now that you have been enlightened as to the penalty of deceiving me, I have another task for you. At six p.m. tonight, the young man Mr. Tanner met will be waiting in the diner near the park. You will both meet him there, and he will give you something. Don't be late."

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	5. Chapter Five

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Vin and Chris walked into the diner at exactly six p.m. A waitress greeted them and asked if they needed anything. Vin ordered two sodas so that they wouldn't be kicked out, and scanned the room for the youth he'd met at the fountain. The kid was sitting at a corner table, sipping a soda, with a duffel bag sitting on the chair next to him.

Vin and Chris walked over and sat down across from him. The youth glanced at Chris. "Tanner," he said by way of greeting. "And I guess you'd be Larabee."

He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a brown-wrapped box. "He told me to give this to you. Wait, don't open it here," he exclaimed as Chris pulled the box over and began to remove the paper wrapping. At Chris's questioning look the kid explained, "I saw some of what Jake put in there . . . it's nothing you want to open in a diner. You want to be somewhere where there aren't people. You don't want to attract attention. Besides, Jake said to tell you not to open it until I'm gone."

He stood and left, once again climbing onto a motorcycle and roaring off into the night. Vin looked out the window. "The park's kinda empty. You want to open it there, Chris?"

They stood up. Vin left some money on the table for his soda and they went across to the park, sitting down on the fountain where he'd met the youth that morning.

Chris opened the box and let out an inarticulate cry of rage. Vin stared at the bloodied Armani jacket, the lock of black hair and the two watches, fear and anger welling up inside him. Samuels had done his research well; he knew that the seven members of Team Seven had some sort of bond that made them as close as brothers. Sending them personal items – personal items covered in blood – cut to the core of the two men.

"Damn it," Chris growled. "We have to get them out _now_."

A tinny ring filled the air. Chris and Vin looked at each other for a moment before Chris realised that his cell phone was ringing. He took it out of his pocket and said tersely, "Larabee."

__

"Chris, it's Josiah. We figured out where Samuels might be!"

"Are you sure?" Chris asked, hardly daring to hope that their profiler might be right.

__

"No, I'm not sure. But I'm pretty damn close to sure. Buck and Nate woke up, and we put together the information we have on Samuels, added some stuff that isn't fact but makes sense, and it pointed to two places. One's registered to a company here in Denver, so I figure it's not that. The other one is registered to a C. Xavier."

Chris didn't see the connection. "What's that got to do with it, Josiah?"

__

"Charles Xavier is the 'hero' in one of those comic books JD reads. Has a genius IQ, something like that. Samuels is young enough to be into comics, Chris. It fits. It's all we have to go on right now, and it's damn well worth a try."

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JD woke up slowly, the muscles of his arms, legs and back screaming at him every time he so much as twitched. For a moment he couldn't remember why he hurt so much, then it came back. Samuels, the video, the collar . . .

The leather still sat snug against his skin, the places where the dermal patches touched his neck burning slightly. He went to reach up and try to ease the chafing of the leather, but his arm protested the movement, sending a wave of pain through him. He groaned again, not wanting to open his eyes yet. Instead, he focused on his surroundings, trying to determine whether he'd been put back with Ezra or had been taken somewhere else.

He could feel pressure around his wrists, upper arms and waist; ropes, from the harsh rasp against his skin. He was upright, leaning backwards at a slight angle, wood hard against his back. A niggling half-image formed in his mind, though he couldn't focus enough to put all the pieces together. He groaned again, his head throbbing at the effort of thinking.

A hand touched his hair, smoothed it back from his forehead. Buck was always going on at him to get it cut. Was it Buck here? No, that wasn't right . . . Buck hadn't been captured. Ezra?

Warm breath tickled his neck. He frowned slightly; that wasn't normal. He opened his mouth to ask Ezra what the hell he thought he was doing, but he was silenced by the kiss that claimed his lips.

His eyes flew open and he was face-to-face with Mikhail. The big guard grinned and licked his lips.

"You taste even better than you look," he confided. JD took in his situation in a second; he wasn't in the room he'd left Ezra in. Instead, he was in a large, unfamiliar room, tied upright with his arms spread out, hard wood pressing against his back. He realised with a sinking feeling that he was bound to a crucifix. Mikhail was standing in front of him, blocking his view of the rest of the room.

"Mikhail, don't be all day taunting him," a lazy voice requested. Mikhail moved to one side and JD saw Caine sitting on the large bed, tossing a long, thin metal rod from one hand to the other. The bed sat across from a fireplace in which a fire was burning. Caine put the long rod into the fire, leaving one end out, and watched it begin to heat up. She picked up another rod, this one with some sort of design at the end, and placed it in the fire as well.

As JD watched, the Mikhail took out a knife that was starting to get all too familiar.

"You owe me two more, Agent," Mikhail said in a low purr. "Getting that tape off, and getting the doc to check over your fancy-mouthed friend. Did you think I was just going to forget our deal?"

"I couldn't exactly come to you," JD shot back. "The door _was_ locked, you know. Made it hard to find you and make good on our deal."

Mikhail grinned, as though JD had said exactly what he wanted him to say. "You're here now. So I'm going to take what's mine."

He used the knife to cut JD's shirt away, baring the agent's stomach. The three cuts stood out in stark contract to JD's pale skin, each one about ten centimetres long. Mikhail lowered the knife and made a fourth cut, perpendicular to the first three. JD gritted his teeth and refused to make a sound as the blade was slowly dragged through his flesh. He knew it wasn't going deep enough to hit anything important, but it _felt_ as though it was cutting deep. Mikhail raised the knife and looked at his handiwork, considering. He made the fifth cut across the previous four, making the tally. As he pulled the knife across, it tore the broken skin from the other four cuts, making all five bleed anew.

"There," JD forced the words out. "My debt's paid now."

Mikhail held the bloody knife above JD and grinned. "You've paid the debt that we agreed on. But I kinda think I'd like to make a new deal, Agent."

JD opened his mouth to ask what Mikhail was talking about, but the guard placed the bloody knife over JD's lips. "No. Don't talk. That's the trouble with Jake's little games – he's too easy on the pawns. I always said he needed to put the fear of God in them." His grin turned feral. "Or the fear of someone, anyway. Don't reckon that many of them believed in God anymore, after we finished with them.

"Jake's a good man, you know. Not many will hire a convicted criminal. But then Jake isn't one to care about a man's past, as long as that man stays loyal to him. And this is a good arrangement, better than any other job I could get with a conviction to my name. A place to stay, food, money, he even lets me use the ones he's finished with for entertainment. And all I have to do is make sure a couple of guys every few years don't escape."

"Every few years? How long has Samuels been doing this?" JD asked, ignoring the blade resting lightly on his mouth. Mikhail grinned.

"He's twenty-five, and I've been with him since he was about seventeen. I'd say he's played this little game about six, seven times all up. The longest break was this last one; we had to move the compound closer to the city, and Jake wanted to be sure that he knew everything about your team before he began the game. Had to know who to take, what sort of things to get the others to do."

"So why me and Ezra?" JD asked, trying to learn something – anything – that would give him insight into how Samuels's mind worked.

Caine answered, standing up and moving over to the crucifix. "You're the youngest, taking you made them all feel like they failed to protect you. Funny reaction, if you ask me; even a young guy can take care of himself, and it wasn't like they could have done anything. Hell, we had you and your friend out of that warehouse even before the gunfight started. As for the fancy man, well, it was more process of elimination. Couldn't take Tanner; he'd make far too much trouble, and even Mikhail might have had problems keeping him in one place. Wilmington's too attached to you to make an interesting hostage; watching his reactions when he finds out what has happened will be far more entertaining for Jake. Jackson was out of the question; having no trained medic makes the captives much more reliant on us. Sanchez is too powerful to risk; he would've had a chance at overpowering Mikhail. And Larabee has to stay free, of course, otherwise what's the fun in the game? You have to watch the leader's reactions to finding out that two of his agents are captives."

She paused, then grinned. "Besides, I took a liking to Standish once we'd done some research into your little team. It's always more interesting, taming the wordy ones. The intelligence makes it more of a challenge."

Caine's words chilled JD, and he hoped that Ezra was still okay. He remembered the insanity in Caine's eyes and the warning that one of the other guards had whispered to him earlier when she brought him and Ezra water. She'd said that Caine was dangerous.

Mikhail started toying with JD's hair. "You have nice hair," he informed the agent. "Soft and smooth, like silk. Like a girl's hair. I like soft hair."

"I'm happy for you," JD said sarcastically. "Now get your hands off me."

Mikhail's grin widened and he brandished the knife again. "I could always use this for more than fulfilling our bargain," he warned, sounding pleased about the prospect.

"Samuels doesn't want me dead."

"What I do won't kill you. Not physically, anyhow."

He placed the knife on a table near the bed and opened the top drawer of a desk, turning his back to JD for a moment. Caine wandered over and trailed her hand down JD's cheek, her fingers caressing the slight cut made by her knife that first night. She cocked her head and said, "Puppy's hurt himself. His face is all cut up, doesn't match the rest of him anymore."

"We can fix that," Mikhail said over his shoulder. "We can make the rest of him match his face."

Mikhail turned back to the crucifix, carrying a cardboard box with him. He stood next to JD and began to go through the box with one hand, the other returning to stroke JD's hair. With an effort, JD pulled his head away and hissed, "I said get your hands off me."

The guard's eyes hardened. He grabbed JD's chin and pressed his fingers into JD's jaw. "You listen to me, Agent. I will make this very, very painful if you bug me. Now, I'm damn sick of your mouthing off. Anyone would think you'd been taking lessons from Standish at how to piss people off. I've noticed he's good at that; sure pisses off Ashley, anyway."

He chuckled. "Now she's a woman to worry about, aren't you, Ash? She went and asked Jake if she could have the Southerner for a while; teach him better manners. Just between us, Ashley's a little rabid most of the time, right Ash? Thinks people are animals to train. Never made that mistake with me or Jake, but she does like to rough up the prisoners a bit."

Caine grinned at Mikhail's words, seeming not to take offense at what JD thought was an insult.

"Can't see how you're any better than he is," JD shot back, ignoring the warning voice in his mind that told him to be passive for once and not try to antagonise Mikhail further. The voice turned out to be right as Mikhail's expression turned hard again.

"Now what'd I tell you about mouthing off at me? Ashley was right about you at least; you are the most stubborn one Jake's brought in, and Ashley and me have seen a lot of folks. You and Standish, and the rest of your team, you're closer than any of the others were, too. Kinda makes me think that they'll feel as though everything that's been done to you two was done to them, too."

He grinned. "It's an interesting thought. I've done a lot in my time – most of it what got me in prison in the first place – but I've never tortured seven men at once. Figuratively speaking, anyway."

JD's eyes widened at his words.

"Get the fuck away from me."

Caine leaned forward. "You know, Agent, you're not the first. We've tortured plenty of others. You remind me a lot of Alex, actually; he looked a lot like you. Alex wasn't the first either, but he was one of the best. Fought all the way. You have hair like his, too, only yours is a bit longer. His was longer than the other Feds, though. I always did think that was a bit strange for a Fed; usually they're clean-shaven short-back-and-sides types. I think that was what made him interesting to me; he was different. Like you."

"You two are disgusting, did you know that?"

Mikhail grinned. "They all say something like that. We're monsters, or disgusting, or sick, or some variation of that. Hell, Agent, I'm not going to disappoint you if you're so hell-bent on thinking that of us."

He looked back in the box, toying with something inside, before looking back at JD. "You wonder how your fancy-mouthed friend is? It's been almost two hours since Jake made that video; I'd bet your pal's woken up now. You think he's wondering where you are? I could always go and enlighten him," he added, smiling wickedly.

"Keep the hell away from Ezra, you fucking psychopath," JD hissed.

Mikhail rummaged in the box, looking for something in particular. "Trading insults with you is fun, Agent, but I have something even more fun in mind. Doing the verbal tango gets tired after a while, and I reckon me and Ash want to have some fun."

Caine crossed back over to the fireplace and removed the first metal rod, now glowing red-hot. She returned to stand in front of JD, holding the glowing tip of the poker centimetres from his face. She studied the red-hot metal for a moment, before carefully, deliberately drawing it down his chest, leaving a line of fire behind.

JD bit back a scream, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain. Caine looked at Mikhail, a strange smile on her face.

"We have a stubborn one here, Mikhail. He's not going to break easily."

Mikhail finally found what he was looking for; he straightened, holding a serrated knife. He grinned at Caine, then turned to JD.

"We are gonna have some fun, Agent."

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Sorry about the late update, guys. I've been swamped with RL stuff. Hopefully the next one shouldn't take so long J 


	6. Chapter Six

Again, sorry for the long wait between updates. To make up for it, this chapter is twice as long as the others. At least I think it is.

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Josiah was beginning to think he'd have preferred being shot at the bust to this. Nathan and Buck had been awake for a few hours, and now that they'd done all they could from the hospital, Buck was going into apoplexy at not being allowed to go and help rescue them. Nathan had taken it calmly enough – oh, he was angry, and wanted Samuels put away, but that was to be expected. Buck, on the other hand, seemed as though he was going to get up and run to the rescue without even bothering to change out of his hospital gown.

The poor doctor was having a hard time convincing him that this would _not_ be a good idea.

"Agent Wilmington, I understand your concern for your colleagues, but I really cannot condone you leaving the hospital at the point in time," the woman said firmly, holding her own against the glare that was aimed her way. Never mind that Buck could barely sit up in bed; the mustached agent looked about ready to kill anyone who got in his way.

"I don't give a damn what you can or can't condone, my friends are in danger and I'm not gonna sit around here while they suffer!"

Nathan sighed. "Buck, I'm as angry as you are about JD and Ezra's capture, but the doctor has a point. I'm not going anywhere with these bullet holes in me, and you're black and blue all over. And your gun arm is broken, so I don't think you'll be doing much shooting."

The door opened and a nurse – his nametag read 'Jared' – walked in. "Time to check your vitals again," he said. He walked over to Buck and firmly pressed him down onto the mattress. "Lie still, Agent Wilmington, otherwise I might have to ask the doctor to sedate you."

His voice brooked no argument, and clearly this was one time Buck's self-proclaimed charm would get him nowhere. Josiah suspected that the doctor had requested these two be nursed by male nurses until they were ready to leave the hospital – that way there was less of a chance that Buck would con his nurse into letting him leave.

"Josiah, come on. I gotta help them get this sorry son of a bitch," Buck pleaded. Jared stuck a thermometer in Buck's ear and made a notation on his chart, then did a blood pressure check and made sure the flow of pain medication was steady before turning to Nathan and giving him the same treatment. Buck cajoled, "I gotta, Josiah. You know how much I hate not being able to help."

"You're going nowhere, Agent Wilmington, as I believe Dr. Russell has told you," Jared said firmly, replacing both charts at the end of their respective beds. "Obs are steady, Dr. Russell, but I'm worried about Agent Wilmington's arm if he keeps moving around like that. Will you stop trying to get up!" he snapped finally, turning to Buck. "I understand that you're worried but you aren't going to be able to help anyone if you start coding again!"

"Again?" Buck queried. Jared glanced at Dr. Russell, who sighed and nodded.

"You woke up for a brief period of time yesterday evening, Agent Wilmington," Dr. Russell explained. "However, you arrested from the trauma to your heart and lungs, and we had to rush you to surgery. If you continue to exert yourself this way, you might relapse."

Buck sank back against the pillows, blinking. "Oh. I didn't realise."

"We'd hardly keep you here unnecessarily," Jared said. "Your team has quite the reputation here; we know what you're like when one of you is injured. I'm sorry to have been so blunt, but you are still not out of the woods yet. That goes for you as well, Agent Jackson."

Nathan nodded. "I figured as much when we kept getting checked every five minutes."

The medic's voice was frustrated; Josiah knew that Nathan, as much as Buck, wanted to be with Chris and Vin, driving to the rescue of their missing comrades. Josiah himself wanted to be there, but Chris had wanted someone to stay with Buck and Nathan, and the backup he'd requested should more than make up for the deficit.

"I'm sorry I can't give you better news," Jared said quietly. "I know your team is close. But if it's any consolation, the finest medical team this hospital has to offer will be yours if you need it."

Josiah nodded gratefully. It wasn't really a consolation; he knew Chris had requested the medical team, and that meant that Ezra and JD were hurt, and badly. But it was a small relief knowing that if his friends were injured, they would have the best care that Denver had to offer them.

"Jared, I'd like you to up the dose of antibiotics for Agent Jackson; that leg wound is slightly infected and I want to fight off infection as fast as possible. Could I speak to you outside, Agent Sanchez?" Dr. Russell's words broke through Josiah's ruminations. The big man nodded and stood up, following the doctor out of the room while Jared adjusted the IV over Nathan's bed.

"Is there a problem, doctor?" Josiah asked once the door had closed behind them. Dr. Russell sighed and rubbed her temples.

"Agent Larabee called to request that we have a medical team standing by. From what I understand, two ATF agents are in possibly critical conditions. How do you want to proceed with this? I'm reluctant to give those men any more reason than they already have to worry, but I understand you won't want to keep them in the dark."

"I don't know," Josiah admitted. "I guess it'll depend on what condition JD and Ezra are in when they're brought here. If it's bad, then Nate and Buck'll need to know. But if Ez and JD are definitely gonna make it, we don't need to tell them the extent of their injuries, not until they're a little better. That's what I figure'd be best. You'll have to see what Chris thinks when he gets back."

Jared came out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Agent Wilmington, despite his assurances that he feels fine, has gone back to sleep," he reported. "Thankfully, Agent Jackson seemed more willing to accept that he can't leave the hospital at this point in time."

"Thank you, Jared," Dr. Russell said. She looked tired, taking off her gold-rimmed glasses and rubbing her eyes. "Agent Sanchez, I take it you will be staying with Agents Jackson and Wilmington?"

"If that's all right."

"The staff here have long since learned that the words 'visiting hours' mean little to ATF agents," Jared said with a brief smile. "You stay with them as long as you need to. I'll keep you up to date with the situation."

"Thank you," Josiah said, his gratitude clear in his voice. He didn't miss the emotion and empathy in Jared's next words.

"Hell, your team are like brothers, we all know that. If it were my brothers out there, I'd want to know what was going on."

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Ezra woke with the feeling that he'd lost quite a bit of time. He looked at his wrist, but his watch had been taken sometime while he was unconscious. The feeling of timelessness was unsettling.

He sat up slowly, mindful of the pain in his bruised stomach, and looked around the room. He'd been moved, he remembered that much, because the doctor had been worried about his head injury. JD had been taken somewhere with Samuels and that big guard, but he'd come back . . . wearing that contraption around his throat. Ezra felt his anger rise at the memory of the leather and metal collar, and the knowledge that JD was wearing it because of him.

The room was small, sparsely furnished with one bed – large enough for both of them – sheeted with plain cotton, and a table on the other side of the room. Someone had put a couple of bottles of water on the table, along with what looked like non-prescription painkiller tablets. JD was nowhere to be seen.

Ezra reached up and touched the place where the doctor had found his head injury. It was bandaged, and didn't hurt quite as much. He could feel his own fever, but nothing dangerously high. He wasn't worried about his own health; Samuels had seemed pretty anxious to have him seen to. What worried him was JD's absence.

The door swung open, and the behemoth of a guard entered, carrying JD. The younger agent was semiconscious, unresponsive in the guard's arms. Burns and abrasions adorned JD's chest, arms and stomach, and his jeans were torn around his lower legs, showing burned skin and deep gashes that had been roughly stitched. His face was bruised and dried blood matted in his dark hair. The guard unceremoniously dumped him on the bed next to Ezra, an odd grin on his face.

"Good Lord . . ."

"The Lord has nothing to do with us," the guard informed him. "I would've thought you'd have figured that out by now. God has no place here."

"What did you do to him?" Ezra demanded. JD's stillness alarmed him. The younger agent was conscious – at least, his eyes were open – but he wasn't looking at anything, just staring into space. The guard's grin widened.

"Ask him about it," he replied as he exited, locking the door behind him. Ezra immediately turned his attention to JD, who hadn't moved from the position he'd been placed on the bed in.

"Mr. Dunne . . . JD?" he asked tentatively, for once foregoing the formal address he preferred to use with his colleagues. Something told him that addressing JD the same way Samuels had been speaking to both of them would be a mistake.

JD blinked and turned his eyes slowly to Ezra. The emptiness there frightened the Southerner, more so than the tears that threatened to spill over. JD barely seemed aware of Ezra's presence. Ezra had no idea what to do in this sort of situation. He would have given anything to know how Buck dealt with JD.

"JD . . . it's me." He cautiously reached out to touch the younger man's hand, and was alarmed by the violent reaction his touch elicited.

JD screamed, awkwardly scrambling backwards on the bed until his back met the wall. He avoided touching anything with his hands, and Ezra cursed as he realised why. The fingers were twisted cruelly, and the skin on the backs of JD's hands was distorted by the obviously broken bones underneath. Some of those bones stuck through his skin, ivory and crimson against mangled flesh. His fingernails had been torn off, leaving raw, bleeding wounds behind. Ezra was torn between horror and fury; as their resident 'computer guy', as JD called himself, the agent's hands were very important to him. Without full dexterity and sensitivity, a lot of his prowess with computers and other technical apparatus would be greatly reduced, something that Ezra wasn't sure JD could cope with on top of everything else that had happened to them.

Ezra took a chance and moved forward, ignoring his own pain at the sight of his friend's pain. He cautiously reached out to the younger man and was shocked when JD clung to him like a child, sobbing.

"Oh, God, Ez . . ." he sobbed brokenly. Ezra, baffled by the sudden storm of tears, simply held his young friend and stroked JD's dark hair, murmuring words that he hoped were comforting, saying whatever came into his mind. He didn't bother trying to use large words, just said whatever he thought of. While he spoke, he prayed that their friends would find them soon, before either of them was pushed beyond their limit. JD was coming dangerously close to breaking, and if that happened Ezra knew that the Seven would crumble.

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Vin glanced at the men in the van with him. Chris had made a few calls and gotten them two dozen agents as backup for their rescue operation. Most of them were men and women whom Vin knew, but the tension in the small space was almost insufferable. The four vans that had come with the backup were heading to a building compound for 'management weekends' according to the records Josiah had found, breaking quite a few speed limits at the same time.

They pulled up on one side of a hill. The compound was on the other side. Getting through the gate was going to be a problem. At least, they thought so, until Emily Corbeau approached Chris and Vin. She was about JD's age, athletic and very pretty. She said tentatively, "There's a guy guarding the gate. We've got pretty good cover from here for a sniper. I'm not trying to belittle your abilities, Vin, but in the state you're in, your nerves are hardly at their best. Maybe one of the others should take the guard down."

Vin nodded, knowing that she had a point; he and Chris were both as tightly-wound as piano wires, and he wasn't sure if he trusted his sniping abilities right now. Normally he'd be fine, but normally he didn't have the lives of two of his teammates resting on his trigger-finger.

Emily gestured to one of the agents who was lying on his stomach, tranquilliser gun aimed at the gatehouse. The sniper nodded, focused for a few moments and pulled the trigger. The guard dropped like a sack of potatoes. Vin and Chris motioned for the other agents to follow them, and they headed down the hill, shoving the guard's body into the gatehouse and binding him hand and foot with duct tape, gagging him just in case he came around before they'd found Ezra and JD.

"Right," Chris said. "Josiah pulled the specs for this place; it's a square with a garden in the middle. Holland, you and your team take the west wing, try to find Samuels and Caine. Brador, you and your team get east wing. Gregorov, Riley, Daniels and Forbes, you're with Tanner and me. We're getting my agents out."

They tried the handles of each door they passed – most were, predictably, locked – and shot the locks off, checking each room for their missing colleagues. Most of the rooms seemed to be storage rooms, but one was familiar to Chris and Vin; the whitewashed concrete room that JD and Ezra had been in on the first video.

They kept going, finding that room empty. Vin shot off the lock of another door. He and Chris entered the room first, expecting the worst. Nothing had prepared them for what they found.

Ezra was sitting on the room's sole bed, his back against the wall. His throat was mottled with bruises, and what skin they could see looked about the same. A bandage was wrapped around his head. He held a badly injured JD in his lap, gently stroking the younger man's hair, though he was looking at Chris and Vin with undisguised relief on his face. JD was staring into space and trembling, tear tracks clear on his face. Rope burns encircled his wrists and there was barely any part of his body that wasn't injured somehow. Chris held up a hand to prevent the other agents from entering; they didn't need to see this.

"Ezra?" Vin ventured. "What happened?"

JD shuddered at the sound of Vin's voice. Ezra patted his shoulder and looked back at the sharpshooter, fury clear in his eyes and his voice, which was hoarse and painful. "I'm not sure, Mr. Tanner, but I can guess. He was tortured. And there is a guard in this place who has an appointment with the business end of a gun."

"Is JD . . .?" Chris trailed off. Ezra shook his head.

"No, he is not all right. Neither am I. But both of us will be exceedingly glad to bid this place farewell."

"Can you both walk?"

"Perhaps; we haven't attempted to stand as yet. I don't think it would be wise for me to move far from JD's side. He . . . I seem to be a source of comfort. Is our path to freedom unobstructed?"

"It will be," Vin growled. "If Samuels or anyone else tries to stop us, they'll be dead before they know it."

"Come on. Let's get out of here," Chris said. Ezra slid to the edge of the bed and stood up, gently pulling JD with him. Despite his assurances that both could walk, Ezra's knees buckled and JD let out a sharp cry of pain. Vin and Chris moved forward just in time to stop both men from collapsing.

"Thought you said you could walk, Ez," Vin said, tightening his grip to keep the Southerner from falling. Ezra managed a pain-filled smile.

"Perhaps I over-exaggerated a little. Being carried may be very well for a child, but a grown man finds it a tad humiliating."

"Tough luck, pal. You aren't in any shape to walk anywhere," Vin informed him. "Chris an' me are strong enough to take you an' JD to the cars."

Ezra's eyes widened. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

He was proven right when Chris grabbed JD to keep him from falling. The young agent pushed himself away from Larabee with an inarticulate cry of pain, catching himself on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, God! Don't touch me!"

"There's no other way to get you out of here," Chris said gently. "I have to carry you, JD. I'm sorry it hurts, but there's really no other way."

Pain was clear in JD's dark eyes as he nodded, steeling himself for the rush of pain. Chris knelt beside JD and carefully lifted the smaller man into his arms, wincing in sympathy at the moan of pain his touch elicited. JD grabbed at Ezra's hand, and the Southerner rose with Chris, wavering on his feet until Vin appeared at his side to keep him on his feet. The sharpshooter asked quietly, "You okay, Ez?"

"How far away are the vehicles?" Ezra asked, equally quiet. His face showed an intense amount of strain, simply from standing.

"Too far. C'mon, Ez, you can sacrifice your dignity for one night. You're hurt."

Ezra nodded. "Don't move too far from JD, Mr. Tanner. I'm not entirely certain what happened, but I am sure that he is in a fragile emotional state. And don't try to remove that collar. From what he told me, if you try to pick the lock a lethal dose of a chemical will be released. When you find Samuels he should have the key. Until then, don't tamper with it."

Vin nodded his understanding and lifted Ezra, carrying the Southerner easily. Ezra wasn't as small as JD, but he was certainly not a huge man like Josiah. Making sure JD could see Ezra, Chris and Vin exited the room.

One of the agents outside let out an explosive curse. "Fuck! What happened to them, Chris?"

"We don't know," Chris said tightly. "We're going to get them to the cars. Can you handle the cleanup here?"

The same agent nodded. "Count on it. The bastard is going down."

"The bastard, as you so bluntly put it, is far from 'going down'."

All the agents turned at the sound of the cool, even voice. Samuels sounded older than he had on the video and the phone. Standing beside and a little behind Samuels were Ashley Caine and a tall, muscular man whom Chris recognised as one of Caine's bodyguards. All three carried firearms, and Caine and the guard both held hostages. Ryan Davis and Emily Corbeau, two of the agents on Holland's team, were held firmly by arms around their throats, guns pressed under their chins.

"Hold it right there, Mr. Larabee," Samuels drawled. "I do believe we've reached an impasse. You have the advantage of numbers and, if I'm not mistaken, the burning desire to see myself and my associates pay for what you consider a crime. Whereas I have your agents, and no particular need for them to remain in one piece."

The guard holding Ryan jerked his arm tighter around Ryan's throat, and the young agent gasped as his breathing was impeded.

"Mikhail," Samuels said warningly, "We need them both alive, for now. Let the boy breathe."

He turned his attention back to Chris. His gun, unlike those of Caine and Mikhail, was pointed directly at the leader of Team 7, while he held what looked like a remote control with only one button in his other hand. He said coolly, "My associates and I will be leaving, Mr. Larabee. If you attempt to follow us, I will have your agents killed, quite painfully, and I will activate the collar around Mr. Dunne's neck. If I do so, it will take him five days to die, in agony. I'm sure you don't want that, so it really would be in everyone's best interests for you to cooperate with me."

"What do you want?" Chris asked, controlling his anger with an effort. Samuels chuckled.

"Ashley, Mikhail and I will be leaving. We will take your agents with us. At the first sign of pursuit, I will have Ashley shoot the woman. If I continue to feel that you are following, I will have Mikhail shoot the young man. If that fails to dissuade you, I'll have no choice but to activate Mr. Dunne's collar."

"Go," Chris snarled, defeat evident in his voice. He couldn't risk the lives of JD, Ryan or Emily, no matter how much he wanted to shoot Samuels where it would hurt most. The rules of hostage situations stipulated ensuring the safety of the hostages first. Samuels nodded, smiling.

"I thought you would see it that way. You law enforcers are always so predictable at this point in the game."

One of the agents growled, "This is a _game_?!" in a voice filled with disgust and rage.

"Easy," Vin said softly. "Don't piss him off."

"Sound advice, though a little crudely put, Mr. Tanner," Samuels purred. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid we must be leaving. We'll give you directions to find your agents once we're far enough away. I'd advise you to take care of Mr. Standish and Mr. Dunne in the interim; I must admit Ashley and Mikhail were rather . . . exuberant . . . in their entertainment this evening."

He, Caine and Mikhail – they hadn't heard a last name for the brute of a guard – began backing up towards one of the doors, Caine and Mikhail still holding their guns under the chins of their hostages. Keeping his eyes on the furious ATF agents, Samuels reached back and opened the door. Chris watched helplessly, furious at the thought of any of the three escaping justice.

Samuels apparently hadn't counted on the hostages taking matters into their own hands.

In a swift, fluid movement, Emily Corbeau reached up with her left hand and dug her fingernails into Caine's wrist, going for the nerves. At the same time, she pulled a derringer from her wrist holster with her right hand and squeezed off several shots, ducking away from Caine as the dealer's deadened fingers loosened their grip on her gun and let it fall.

Several things happened at once.

Ryan twisted out of Mikhail's grip and grabbed at his gun.

Mikhail slammed his fist into the side of Ryan's head, and the young agent reeled from the blow.

Several of the agents with Chris opened fire, trying not to hit Ryan or Emily in the process of gunning down the three criminals.

Samuels staggered back, blood appearing in three widening circles on his shirt. He slid down the wall, leaving a grisly trail of crimson, but was still conscious.

Caine's gun went off, though at this distance Chris couldn't see who had been shot.

Mikhail, taking advantage of the confusion, bolted. Several agents fired at him, but he vanished through the door that Samuels had opened. Three agents went in pursuit.

Samuels, leaning against the wall, barked out a harsh laugh. Blood spotted his lips. He raised his hand, the one holding the remote device, and pressed the button.

JD screamed and began writhing in Chris's arms. Angry red lines spread from the collar, going down his neck and vanishing under his shirt, and reaching his face. His muscles began to tighten, and Chris started to run. He'd seen what the chemical in the collar did when used in small doses, and he doubted that this was a small dose. The other agents could clean up what was left; he had to get JD some help.

JD's screams echoed down the tile-floored corridor. His reaction to the chemical was much faster than it had been when Samuels had sent the video; there was no doubt that this was a full dose. Vin followed Chris at a run, apologising to Ezra when the Southerner cursed at the painful jolting.

"Fuck 'sorry', get JD some help!" Ezra snarled, sounding as far from his normally cultured self as possible.

Natasha Gregorov, one of the agents with medical training, was following them, speaking into her cell phone as she ran. "We have two agents down, medical assistance needed. Cranial contusions, burns to the arms and legs, fractured or broken bones in the arms and hands, broken or cracked ribs, and some sort of chemical has been introduced to Agent Dunne's bloodstream. He's having a severe reaction; symptoms are muscular spasms, nausea and intense pain . . . thank you."

She looked at Chris and Vin. "Ambulances will be here in less than five minutes. Until then, let's get them to the van and I'll see what I can do."

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TBC.


	7. Chapter Seven

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The ambulances arrived two minutes later. Two minutes that had seemed like a lifetime to Chris and Vin. Natasha had been able to ease Ezra's pain a little by giving him some of the morphine she carried in her field kit, and she'd managed to stop JD's muscles from spasming quite so badly, but she couldn't counteract the chemical coursing through his veins, not with the supplies she had on hand.

The paramedics quickly loaded Ezra and JD into the two ambulances. JD had calmed down a little by the time the ambulances arrived, seemingly reassured by the presence of his fellow agents. Vin went in the ambulance with him, while Chris traveled with the less badly injured Ezra.

The two paramedics with Vin and JD were aghast at the extent of the younger agent's injuries, but quickly swallowed their horror and got to work. One began covering the burns and cuts with antiseptic ointment while the other inspected the collar around JD's neck. She checked the fit of the leather, frowning at the snugness. She turned to Vin.

"Agent Tanner, this collar needs to come off. It's very tight, but I think I can remove it. There's going to be some blood, not enough to seriously endanger Agent Dunne, but it will be there. I'm not going to cut anywhere near the jugular or carotid, but I still need you to take this gauze and stem the bleeding as much as you can. I'll have to press into his skin to get the knife under the leather."

Vin nodded, taking the gauze she handed him and moving to JD's other side, keeping out of the male paramedic's way. The woman carefully pressed her knife into JD's neck, maneouvering the blade under the leather and carefully, slowly cutting. Blood appeared and Vin blotted it away with the gauze. JD had by this point lost consciousness, a small mercy, and didn't move as the paramedic removed the collar with agonising slowness.

She frowned at the angry red burns where the dermal patches had rested, reaching over and taking some soothing cream to spread on the burns. Her partner glanced up and said tensely, "Rachel, some of these look infected. We'll have to watch out for fever at the hospital."

The woman nodded. "Have to get the lab to run tests on his blood, find out what that chemical is. Agent Gregorov didn't know."

They turned their attention to JD's hands. Rachel let out her breath in a long hiss. "Jesus. I'm not supposed to say this, but I hope you killed the guy who did this, Agent Tanner."

"Last I saw him, he was bleedin' from three bullets to the chest. I don't think he'll last long enough for another ambulance."

The man spoke again. "We've got multiple breaks in the fingers and bones of the hands, possible breach of the vein in the left thumb if this discolouration is anything to go by. We can't set these here, Rachel, he'll need surgery. All we can do is strap his hands to boards and keep him from moving them too much."

Vin bit his lip. "Do you think he'll get the use of his hands back?"

"I can't say," Rachel said without looking up from her work, carefully taping JD's hands and fingers to small plastic boards. "We won't know until he's had surgery to fix all the bones. There are very small bones in the hands, and they're some of the worst to break. But you've got the best medical team there is waiting at the hospital."

Vin nodded, silent, looking at the battered form of his friend as the paramedics worked. He only hoped the best medical team was enough for JD and Ezra.

*************************************************************************************

Josiah looked up as Vin entered the room, looking as though he'd been through hell. He fell into the seat beside Josiah and dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing his face with his fingers.

"Vin?" Josiah asked, the name loaded with a dozen questions. Vin looked up and nodded.

"We found them. Your information was right. Came up against more resistance than we thought, but we got them out."

"JD?"

Vin covered his eyes with his hands, and when he spoke, his voice was choked. "Jesus, Josiah, I didn't think a man could be hurt that bad. I don't think there was a single part of him that they didn't hurt somehow. It's like they knew exactly what would break him, too. They smashed his hands. The doctors still aren't sure whether he's gonna be able to use them again."

Josiah exhaled sharply. "Where is he now?"

"Surgery. They're trying to fix his hands, an' he was bleedin' inside. He was really out of it when we got to them, Josiah, he didn't even know me an' Chris at first."

"Did you get the ones who did it?"

"Tried to," Vin replied. "We had to leave before we could be sure they were dead or in custody. We're waitin' on Aaron Brador to tell us the final deal."

"How's Ezra?" Josiah asked, tearing his mind away from what would happen if JD lost the use of his hands.

"Not great," Vin admitted. "He was strangled pretty bad the first night, an' he was bleeding inside his skull from when Caine attacked him. He's bruised badly, an' the doctors reckon there was some internal injury as well. They've got him in surgery to try an' fix that, but they reckon he should be okay. Nate an' Buck still haven't woken up?"

"They were awake earlier, but one of the nurses gave them sedatives about two hours ago," Josiah told the sharpshooter. "Said they needed the rest."

Vin cracked a grin, though it was a far cry from his normal smile. "Bet Buck was spittin' nails about that."

"Oh, yes. It took Dr. Russell ten minutes to argue him into submission. She's a strong-minded woman, which is about what's needed to deal with Buck. Nathan's a much better patient."

"That doesn't surprise me. How're they doin', anyway?"

"Better. Nathan should be able to go home by the end of the week, and if Buck's vitals stay the way they are he'll be released the day after tomorrow."

Vin sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I reckon he won't go home until he knows JD's gonna be okay. Chris's waitin' outside surgery, you know, annoyin' the hell out of all the nurses. His knee's gotta be killin' him, but he won't ask for any pain relief until he knows what the situation with JD an' Ezra is."

"That man cares deeply about his team," Josiah said softly. "I doubt there's anyone who could influence him when it comes to Team 7. Though Jared might come close."

"Jared?"

"The nurse who managed to convince Buck that he couldn't run off to help you and Chris find JD and Ezra," Josiah explained. "'Convince' is probably the wrong word; bully might come closer."

Vin chuckled. "That must've been interestin'. This Dr. Russell put male nurses on duty till Buck gets better, then?"

"In this room, yes. She's obviously heard about him trying to coax the women into letting him go early."

They both lapsed into silence, the forced small talk breaking off. Their thoughts were on the two men in surgery upstairs, and on wondering whether those responsible would be brought to justice.

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The sun was just thinking about getting up when Chris appeared in the doorway of Buck and Nathan's room. Unshaven, clothing wrinkled, deep circles beneath his eyes, he looked as though he'd been up for days. Which, to be honest, was about the truth.

Nathan smiled and held his finger to his lips. Buck was still sleeping, and Josiah had gone to find some coffee. Vin was slumped over in an uncomfortable hospital chair at the room's single small table, his head resting on his folded arms.

"Hey, Chris. You have news?" Nathan asked softly. The black-clad leader of Team 7 nodded and came to sit by Nathan's bed.

"Ezra got out of surgery a few hours ago. The doctors stopped the internal bleeding and fixed his head. He had a fracture in his skull from hitting the floor when Caine was kicking him. His throat's gonna be sore for a while, and they want to keep him for a few days to make sure there aren't any complications. They're worried about the amount of blood there was in his braincase when he got to surgery, and that he passed out in the ambulance. He's still touch and go.

"JD just got out of surgery. They've done what they can for his hands, but it's extremely uncertain right now; we won't know for sure whether he has full use of them until the bandages come off. He's pretty bad, got a high fever and infection has set in because of his injuries, but they've got him on antibiotics and a whole bunch of other medicines to combat that."

"What about the chemical Vin told me about?" Nathan asked. Chris's face broke into a relived smile.

"The doctors weren't sure what it was, much less how to treat it, but Aaron Brador showed up at midnight with the antidote. Took it right from Samuels's office. JD's muscles are gonna be sore for a while, and he won't be able to handle food for a few days, but he's not gonna die. Not from the chemical, anyway," he added, his voice gaining a deep note of concern and fear. The chemical might not kill JD, but he was close to being taken from them anyway, due to the extent and severity of his injuries.

"Did we lose any agents last night?"

"Nope. Emily Corbeau was nicked by a bullet, but she's been treated and gone home. Some of Brador's people were grazed, but no fatalities. The only agent in hospital from the other teams is Ryan Davis; he got hit in the arm. Should be fine though."

"And the ones behind this rigmarole?"

Chris's face darkened. "Samuels is dead, Caine in a coma. We're not sure what happened to the kid Vin met. The guard escaped, though, and from what Ezra said he's the one who did the most damage to JD."

Nathan sucked in a breath, horrified at the idea that the man who had hurt JD so badly was free. "We can't tell him, Chris."

"I know. Not now, anyway. Maybe later, when he's healed some, but he can't deal with it right now."

"When can we see him and Ezra?" Nathan asked.

"That's what I came down here for. I figured they shouldn't have to wake up alone. I talked to Dr. Russell, and she okayed you and Buck leaving your room as long as you stayed connected to your IVs and stayed either in wheelchairs or in chairs. Jared and another nurse are going to be here in half an hour to take you up."

"I'm surprised Dr. Russell agreed."

"She knows our team, and she knows that you and Buck will both be restless until you see JD and Ezra. She's trying to arrange a four-bed room, but that might take a few hours," Chris explained. "They put Ezra and JD together; Ez seems to be able to deal with JD in this state."

Nathan's blood ran cold. "What do you mean, in this state?"

Chris sighed. "When we found them, JD was . . . almost catatonic, I guess. He'd been tortured so badly that he withdrew, and most people scare the hell out of him. Ezra seems to be able to get through that fear, probably because they went through that hell together. It's gonna be a slow recovery for both of them, Nate; despite what Ezra said to us last night, he's far from himself. We're gonna have to watch out for them both."

"Did you think we'd do otherwise?" Josiah asked from the door. "We're more than a team, Chris; we're a family. The only family some of us have. We're gonna fight this together."

*************************************************************************************

Ezra lay with his eyes closed, listening to the various muted sounds around him. It sounded different to before; he was sure that there had been no beeping or rapid footsteps audible from the room he and JD had been imprisoned in. Samuels could have had them moved again, he supposed, but surely he would have woken had he been relocated.

His head was pounding, as though he had some sort of imp in there, hacking away at the backs of his eyes with a pickaxe. His throat and lungs felt as though they were on fire, as well, and he could feel numerous bruises peppering his body. There was a strange feeling halfway down his torso as well – the skin there felt tighter, and slightly sore. Perhaps it would be better if he went back to sleep for a few hours – or a few days. Maybe until he'd healed properly . . .

A hand reached out and took one of his. "Come on, Ezra, the doctors said you're going to be okay. Wake up, okay?"

Ezra frowned slightly. Was he hallucinating? He could have sworn that was Chris's voice.

He heard movement as whoever it was leaned forward. "Ezra? Can you hear me?"

Ezra risked opening his eyes. Unless his hallucinations were visual as well as aural, and very detailed, he was lying in a hospital room, Chris sitting beside his bed and holding one of his hands. The black-clad leader smiled in relief.

"About time. You've slept in a long time, even for you."

"I think . . . that under the circumstances . . . I've earned the right to sleep," Ezra protested, his throat feeling as though it was stuffed with sandpaper. Chris snagged a glass of water and held it out.

"Here. Dr. Russell says you can have water, but solids are gonna hurt your throat for a while. And don't make any sudden movements or you'll rip your stitches."

Ezra sipped the cool water gratefully, though swallowing proved almost too painful to bear, and moving his head was definitely out of the question. He suddenly recalled the events of the night before and asked urgently, "JD?"

"He's here, too," Chris answered, gesturing to the other bed where Ezra could see JD, still unconscious and swathed in so many bandages that he looked like a mummy. IVs and machines were hooked up everywhere, though at least JD was breathing on his own. Ezra knew how uncomfortable and frightening ventilators were. Ezra's eyes went to JD's throat.

"The collar? Dear Lord, Samuels gave him a full dose of that chemical!"

"Hey, calm down, Ezra," Chris said soothingly – rather an odd tone of voice to hear from Chris, Ezra thought. "Aaron Brador brought in the antidote, the chemical isn't going to kill him. His muscles are going to hurt for a few days, but he'll be okay."

"At least we're out of that hell," Ezra said softly. The effort of speaking brought a coughing fit, one so severe that it left Ezra gasping for breath with a burning sensation in his throat and lungs and black patches in his vision. Chris, looking alarmed, leaned forward.

"Hey, you okay? Maybe you shouldn't talk; Dr. Russell said it might aggravate your throat for a few days."

Ezra waved off Chris's concern, concentrating on breathing properly. When he felt that he was in control of his body again, he asked, "How is JD?"

Chris looked down. "Not good. The doctors aren't sure when he's going to wake up, and the longer that takes him . . ."

"The less likely it is," Ezra finished for him. He looked over at the still form of his young friend, remembering the horrible injuries JD had had the last time Ezra saw him. JD's hands were wrapped in bulky bandages, hiding the damage done to them, but the memory was all too clear in Ezra's mind. He almost didn't want to know the answer to his next question.

"His hands . . .?"

Chris shook his head. "We won't know until the bandages come off, and that could take anything from a week to two months, depending on how quickly he heals. Most of the bones in his hands and fingers were broken, and that will take a long time to heal. He won't have much use of his hands for a while, and even after that it's possible that he'll lost up to ninety percent use."

Ezra swallowed. "Good Lord, that will kill him."

"We won't let it," Chris said firmly. "JD's got a lot to live for, Ez, even if he _does_ lose the use of his hands. And even that isn't set in stone; he could fully recover. But he _won't_ recover if he falls into depression. We have to make him want to live."

"It'll be a long road. He went through so much. He's going to need us all."

"We'll be here. Vin and Josiah are bringing Nathan and Buck down here as soon as Dr. Russell scares up some wheelchairs, and she's working out a four-bed room for you all. We figured that'd be best for everyone."

There was silence for a few moments. As Ezra's head cleared, he began to remember what had happened at Samuels's compound in clear, brutal detail. Every injury he'd seen on JD's body, every bruise he'd felt on his own. The cool words Samuels had used to excuse his actions; the madness in Caine's eyes; the cold cruelty in Mikhail's. The Southerner shuddered, closing his eyes as though that could block out the images that danced before his eyes.

"Ezra?" Chris's voice was worried. "Are you hurting? Do you want me to get the doctor?"

Ezra managed to shake his head, his eyes still closed. "No. Just . . . go and help Vin and Josiah. JD may wake up any time, and I expect he'd want Buck here. I'm all right."

Chris was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft and understanding.

"What I said before, about us all being here, it stands for you as well, Ezra. You ever need us, just say the word."

Ezra barked out a harsh laugh. "I have never needed anybody in my life, Mr. Larabee."

"You've also never gone through anything like this before," Chris said gently. "There's no shame in admitting that you're hurting, both physically and emotionally."

"I will keep that in mind, Mr. Larabee," Ezra lied. "Now, as I said, JD will undoubtedly want Mr. Wilmington here when he awakes. I intend to make the most of the silence until then and return to sleep. You should help Mr. Sanchez and Mr. Tanner bring our friends down here."

He kept his eyes closed until he heard Chris's footsteps recede, still marveling at the fact that he'd pretty much given Chris an order and the sharp-tempered man hadn't taken umbrage. He released the tight control he'd been keeping over himself, and began to tremble. It was one thing to know that he and JD were safe, and quite another to believe it. His mind knew that Chris wouldn't have been so calm if Samuels and Caine were still loose, but it wasn't his mind that was in control right now. It was his instincts, his heart, and both were badly bruised from what he and JD had been through.

He felt tears sting his eyes and silently cursed his weakness. _'Now what would Mother say? Well, for one thing she would still be unimpressed that I choose to remain a civil servant. But she'd be most annoyed if I showed any weakness.'_

Funny, though, he couldn't remember why he cared what his mother thought anymore. He was a grown man, wasn't he? Surely he could do what he chose to, no matter what Maude might think. He was strong enough to make his own decisions; he wasn't a child anymore.

Though he didn't feel particularly strong right now. He hadn't even been able to stop Caine and Mikhail from torturing JD.

Tears leaked from beneath tightly closed eyelids, despite Ezra's efforts to stop them. He clenched his hands and wished that Samuels and Caine were right in front of him, so he could take revenge and make them feel everything they'd inflicted on himself and his friend. Thinking about them turned out to be a mistake; their faces contorted into laughter as he saw, over and over again, Mikhail carrying JD's limp form and dumping him roughly on the bed; as he heard JD's weak cry of pain, Caine's maniacal ranting as she attacked Ezra; as the scent of blood once more invaded his senses. A choked sob escaped his throat.

". . . Ez . . ."

A weak, soft voice invaded his thoughts and he opened his eyes, his vision blurred from tears. He turned his head slowly, wary of the pain still throbbing in his head, and saw a dark blur moving where JD's bed was. He blinked his eyes clear and saw the younger man looking at him with concerned eyes.

". . . Ez . . . you . . . k?"

He managed a brief smile. "I'm fine, JD."

A short laugh erupted from the other bed, though it sounded weak and thin. "Bull . . . shit."

That brought a more genuine smile. "Very well. I'm not fine, and I suspect I won't be for some time. I expect you're feeling much the same."

"'Bout . . . right. Head's . . . killin' me."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be talking," Ezra suggested regretfully. He knew that it was a good sign that JD was awake, but with the extent of his injuries the younger agent was by no means out of danger. Come to think of it, he probably wasn't either, otherwise Chris wouldn't have been pussyfooting around him.

"'M . . . 'lright," JD managed, sounding exhausted from the simple effort of speaking. "Where're . . . th'others?"

"On their way," Ezra assured him. "Mr. Larabee was here a few moments ago, but he went to assist Mr. Tanner and Mr. Sanchez in bringing down Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson. They'll be here soon."

"Why d'you . . . do that, Ez?"

"Do what?" Ezra asked, genuinely puzzled. He wasn't aware that he'd been doing anything out of the ordinary.

"Call . . . all'f us by . . . last names."

Ezra blinked. "I . . . I suppose I wasn't aware that I did. It's how I address people."

JD shook his head. "No. You . . . talk 'bout . . . old 'ssociates . . . with firs' names. Why're . . . we diff'rent?"

He sighed. "I hadn't wanted to have this discussion, JD."

"Spill . . . Ez."

He looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. "You're aware of what happened in Atlanta. After that, I told myself that I wouldn't allow myself to become close to my colleagues, in case it ever happened again. Addressing you all by your surnames is a way of distancing myself, I suppose. I feel safer when I don't have connections to people and places."

"Ev'rything's . . . got risks, Ez. Even . . . friendship."

"I suppose. It's hard, that's all," Ezra admitted. "Atlanta hammered home the fact that I don't belong anywhere."

"Stop . . . self-pityin' . . . crap. You b'long . . . with us," JD said labouriously. "You . . . got me through . . . _that_."

__

That. Yes, he knew all too well what _that_ was. Would have given anything, in fact, for himself and JD to be spared the knowledge of _that_.

JD was watching him closely. "Why . . . you cryin' . . . b'fore?"

"You don't feel like crying?" Ezra asked, surprised. JD shook his head.

"Not . . . what I meant. You . . . cryin' 'cause . . . hurt, or . . . other reasons?"

Ezra was silent for a few minutes, going over JD's words. Yes, he hurt, but there were myriad other reasons why he felt like crying, not the least of which was the fact that he'd been helpless to help himself, much less JD, while in Samuels's clutches. Finally, he sighed and admitted, "Not just because I hurt."

He was about to say more, but they heard voices outside, and Ezra was aware that tears were still running down his cheeks. He quickly swiped at them and said urgently, "Can this wait, JD? I don't want to have this discussion with our colleagues."

"Gotta . . . sometime."

"I know. But not now."

"Secret's . . . safe with me," JD assured him, smiling, then wincing as the movement pulled the cuts on his face. At that moment, the other five members of Team Seven entered the room, Buck and Nathan being pushed in wheelchairs with IV poles attached to the armrests. Behind the five ATF agents walked an orderly.

"Hey, kid! You're awake," Buck burst out as they entered and saw JD's eyes open.

The orderly grinned. "I'll let Dr. Russell know. You two, stay in those wheelchairs or I'll tear strips off your hides," he admonished Nathan and Buck, turning and walking quickly from the room. Josiah and Vin placed the wheelchairs between the two beds, then Vin turned to Chris.

"You. Sit. Now."

Ezra only then noticed that Chris's right knee looked as though it was bandaged, and he was limping slightly. The black-clad leader of Team Seven took one look at the determined expression on Vin's face, sighed, and sat down in the chair nearest the beds. Vin gave a half-nod of approval and snagged the other chairs for himself and Josiah.

"How're you feeling, kid?" Buck asked eagerly. He reached out to take JD's hand and pulled back suddenly, his face shocked when he saw the bandages swathing JD's hands. He swallowed and glanced at Chris, mutely asking if Chris knew the extent of the damage to JD's hands. Chris shook his head.

"Buck . . . stop. I'm . . . not dyin'. . . or nothin'," JD protested.

"How are you both feeling?" Chris asked quietly. "Dr. Russell warned me that you'll both feel poorly for a while."

"The doctor was right," Ezra muttered. "I feel terrible."

"You look like someone used you as a punching bag," Buck said. Ezra froze, flashing back to Caine's assault. The rope burn around his throat seemed to sear anew and he couldn't breathe. He started gasping for air, clawing at his throat.

Josiah's eyes widened as Ezra started to choke, and he leapt from his chair and was instantly at the agent's side. "Ezra! Ez, calm down. You're safe!"

His words didn't seem to be getting through the panic that enveloped the Southerner. The monitor by his bed started beeping frantically, and Josiah was pushed aside by a small, dark-haired woman in a white coat, and several orderlies. The woman – the doctor – swiftly injected a drug into Ezra's IV, and after a few moments he calmed and fell into an uneasy sleep. The doctor sighed and turned to the rest of them.

"He should be all right. Panic attacks are common after abductions. Do you have any idea what set this one off?" she asked.

"I said something about Ez looking like he'd been used as a punching bag," Buck said guiltily. "I didn't know it'd make that happen."

"No, there was no way you could have known. If anything, it's better that it happened now rather than later. We know one of the triggers, and we can be alert in case he has another attack. He doesn't seem to have done himself any additional harm, so it's doubtful this episode will have any lasting impact on his recovery," she assured Buck. She turned to JD, checking his vitals and making sure the IVs were properly connected. "It's good to see you awake, Agent Dunne. How are you feeling?"

"'M . . . fine."

Buck chuckled, despite his worry, at JD's habitual response. Even Dr. Russell seemed amused as she continued to check JD's injuries. She finally straightened up and announced, "Everything seems to be in order. We've got you on a steady drip of morphine for the moment, Agent Dunne, but we'll reduce that slowly as your recovery permits. Let someone know if the pain gets bad and we'll increase the dose. The nurses will be checking you every ten minutes, but the call button is there if you need anything. Now, gentlemen," she continued, turning to the other agents, "I realise that you pay visiting hours little mind, but I really can't condone so many people in a high-dependency room after hours. Until Agents Dunne and Standish can be safely transferred to a low-dependency room, I can only allow one, _possibly_ two, of you here after visiting hours. And until I can arrange a four-bed room, Agents Jackson and Wilmington will have to return to their room at night. I'm willing to bend some of the rules for you, but I can't bend them all."

"We understand," Chris said, hating the restrictions but understanding the need for them. "Thank you for what you've done."

"As one of my nurses said to Agent Sanchez, you seven men are like brothers. We just have to imagine what it would be like for us to have loved ones in such a position to empathise with you."

She turned to leave. "I've left instructions for the nurses attending Agents Jackson and Wilmington to come here for their rounds. When Agent Standish wakes up again, please have one of them page me."

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TBC. Nearly done now J 


	8. Chapter Eight

Last chapter now! Hope you all enjoy.

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It was another four days before either JD or Ezra could be moved from the high-dependency room. By that time, Buck and Nathan had been released under strict orders that they were to do nothing more strenuous than walk up a flight of stairs. As per Dr. Russell's orders, no more – and no less – than two agents spent each night watching over JD and Ezra, spelled during the day by the others. Vin spent most of his time there, leaving only when Chris kicked him out to eat, sleep or shower.

The nights were the worst, Ezra and JD both invariably suffering nightmares. Despite sedatives to help them sleep, neither got much rest during the hours of the night. Surprisingly, it seemed easier for them to relax during the day, and indeed both slept more between dawn and dusk than they did after dark.

The subject of Ezra's nightmares was clear; he would suddenly begin to have trouble breathing, and end up hyperventilating and clawing at his throat until the watching agents woke him from the nightmare. Once awake, he would deny remembering what the nightmare was about and appear to return to sleep, though the intermittent shudders and tears leaking from the corners of his closed eyes betrayed that pretense. Josiah had tried to comfort the Southerner, the first night, and they'd learned then that Ezra would not take comfort from any of them. His proud mind translated it as pity, which a man of Ezra's dignity and upbringing could not accept. All they could do for Ezra was wake him from the nightmares and give him their mute support.

JD's nightmares, however, were far more elusive in typifying. They'd seen him have reactions that ranged from screaming in pain and fear to speaking in a low, angry voice that made anyone hearing it shiver, wondering how such deadly hate could come from their youngest agent. As with Ezra, all they could do for JD was wake him from the nightmare, though his refusal to accept comfort seemed to stem from a desire to keep all contact with others at a minimum. He barely talked to any of them, except for Ezra and, on occasion, Buck. After four days of this, they were all missing the normally incessant chatter from their youngest colleague.

The day after they'd been moved to the low-dependency room, Ezra and JD had to give their statements. The officers and agents who'd come to take their statements were as considerate of the injured agents' mental states as they could be, but their teammates could see, afterwards, that the questioning had taken its toll.

Six days after they'd been moved to the low-dependency room – ten days after their rescue – eleven days and thirteen hours after their capture – Dr. Russell came in and discreetly pulled Chris aside. They went into the corridor and Dr. Russell asked bluntly, "Have you talked to your agents about counseling, Agent Larabee?"

"Well – no, not yet. I wanted to wait until they were ready."

"To be brutally honest, Agent Larabee, if you wait until they're 'ready' to talk then you'll be waiting a long time, longer than either of those men can afford. I've seen too many patients like JD and Ezra to delude myself into thinking this will just go away. Now, I know a number of competent counselors, either here or outside the hospital, though there is one man who specialises in kidnap situations, especially those involving Federal agents or police officers abducted in the line of duty. I'd like for you to have them at least consider the idea. The sooner they get professional counseling, the better."

"They seem to be okay." Chris glanced back into the room, where Ezra was shuffling a deck of cards and conversing with JD, who, while not his usual exuberant self, seemed more animated than he had in the last ten days. Dr. Russell shook her head.

"The nightmares are continuing, and I've seen enough cases like this to know what denial looks like, Agent Larabee. I'm afraid that if you don't persuade them to agree to at least minimal counseling, you're going to lose them."

"You really think it's that bad?" Chris asked, stunned.

"Unfortunately, yes. JD isn't eating, even though all our tests show that he should have been able to handle food since Tuesday, and Ezra needs prompting to do the most basic things like drinking or getting dressed each day. They barely respond to the nurses, surely you've noticed that."

Now that Chris thought about it, both agents seemed strangely passive when the nurses came to check on them or change bandages. Even when the thick bandages protecting JD's hands were changed, he hardly seemed to notice and he certainly didn't look at his hands to see the extent of the damage. Chris had looked, the first time the bandages had been changed, and hadn't been tempted to again; the stitches from the surgery to realign the bones made an ugly tracery across JD's hands, and his fingers, splinted to boards to prevent them from getting bumped out of alignment, were swollen and dead-looking. Ezra, too, had given almost no reaction when the stitched wound from the surgery to repair the tearing of abdominal muscles had been checked, probed and re-bandaged.

He looked back into the room, looking past the surface appearance of recovery. There was a strained quality to JD's voice, and though Ezra still used the long words that confused the hell out of most of them, his heart didn't seem to be in what he was saying. The breakfast trays that the nurses had brought were untouched, and the pitcher of water standing on Ezra's bedside table was still full, the glass beside it unused. As he looked closer, he realised with a start that both JD and Ezra had the same look in their eyes – cold, blank resignation.

He turned back to Dr. Russell. "I see what you mean. I'll do my best to get them to agree to counseling, but it's going to be a fight the whole way. None of my men are fond of medical treatment, whether it's physical or not. Hell, I have enough trouble getting them to attend the mandatory counseling session after what the ATF deems traumatic jobs. But I'll do what I can."

"Please do, Agent Larabee. The sooner the better."

Chris watched her leave, frustrated that he hadn't noticed something was wrong earlier. He watched Ezra and JD for a few more moments, noting the forced quality to their banter, and then reentered the room.

JD looked up as Chris sat down again. "Hey. What'd Dr. Russell have to say?"

"Oh, she just wanted to know what the arrangements for you two were once you're discharged," Chris lied. It wasn't the right time to bring up the idea of counseling; he'd do that later in the morning, when both men had been given their meds for the morning. He continued, "I told her that you'd both be coming to the ranch for a while."

He held up a hand to forestall their protests. "Hear me out. Both of you live in places where you'd have to use stairs, and Dr. Russell isn't happy about that. Ez, you live alone and she's _really_ not happy about that. If you're both at my place, it's easier to navigate and there's room for one of the other guys as well, so there's always someone on hand if you need anything. Besides, it's not like it's forever, just until you're both a bit more mobile."

"Mr. Larabee, I assure you I am perfectly capable of caring for myself," Ezra bristled, though the protest lacked its usual fire. Another sign that worried Chris; Ezra was usually much more vehement when he was told something that he didn't like. JD's lack of protest was a worry as well, especially since the younger man usually hated being dependent on anyone else and would, under normal circumstances, be pressing Chris to let him stay at home, citing Buck's presence as surety. Now, he was just staring at the sheet, his hair falling over his face and hiding his eyes.

"That may be, Ez, but Dr. Russell doesn't want either of you alone for a week or so after you're discharged. Just in case something happens," Chris reasoned. It was the standard practice, after all; they should be used to it. And he supposed they were; that didn't mean they liked it.

He let his eyes roam the room, falling in what he hoped was a natural way on the untouched breakfast trays. "You guys haven't eaten. Jared's gonna give you hell about that."

Ezra actually looked surprised as he looked at the tray beside his bed, while JD just shrugged and said in a dead voice, "Wasn't hungry."

"Damn it, JD, that's been your excuse for the last two days. Do you really want them to have to use a food tube? Because they will if you keep refusing to eat," Chris snapped. JD just blinked at him as though the outburst was perfectly normal and shrugged again.

__

'Screw waiting. Dr. Russell was right; we're gonna lose them if this goes on much longer.'

Chris sighed and leaned forward. "Ez, JD, I think we need to talk."

Ezra looked up at him with mild interest in his eyes, shuffling his cards over and over. JD didn't look at him, but Chris kept talking anyway, hoping that JD was listening. Damn it, even if he wasn't Chris would find a way to drum what he was saying into JD's head.

"Dr. Russell thinks the two of you need some counseling, and I agree with her. And before you give me any crap about being fine, we've all had to have mandatory counseling for cases that were nothing compared to what the two of you went through. It's obvious from your behaviour that you're _not_ fine. I don't think Travis would let you return to active duty without at least some counseling, anyway."

"That's all a load of bull, Chris," JD argued, for once seeming to be almost himself again. "I don't need a shrink to spout sanctimonious bullshit at me about knowing that it's not my fault I got hurt. I knew the risks when I signed on, and I _don't_ need to 'share my feelings' with anyone."

"Whether that's true or not, you have to see someone," Chris said firmly. "Dr. Russell's reluctant to release either of you without at least a consultation."

"It's completely unnecessary, an utter waste of time," Ezra stated, shuffling his cards again. Chris sighed in frustration and stood up, crossing over to JD's bed and placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder. JD flinched and pulled away.

"You see? You can't stand to be touched, JD, not even by a friend. I've seen how you react to the nurses when they change your bandages. And if you shuffle those cards any more, Ez, they'll end up more dog-eared than Buck's favourite copy of _Playboy_. Look, Dr. Russell's not going to release you until you at least talk to someone, so why not just do what she wants? She'll get her way eventually."

Ezra looked down at his cards, seemingly confused by them. He looked back up at Chris and nodded. "All right. I'll agree to one – and _only_ one – session with this . . . _psychiatrist_. Though I think the whole thing is ridiculous."

"Thanks, Ez. JD?"

The young agent kept his eyes rebelliously averted. "Chris, I only jumped 'cause you hit one of my bruises. And getting bandages changed _hurts_, in case you didn't know. I don't have a problem with being touched."

"Cut the crap, JD. You and I both know that neither of us is leaving this room until you agree to see the psychiatrist Dr. Russell recommended. Don't make me have to order you."

JD glared at Chris. "Fine. I'll see the goddamned shrink. Happy?"

"No, but it's a start. Just . . . go into this with open minds, _please_. It's not going to help if you won't let it."

*************************************************************************************

Dr. Jude Nichols was a man in his early thirties, with short black hair, grey eyes and a surprisingly informal manner. Dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, with a lightweight jacket in deference to the cooling weather, he was far from the suit-and-tie image that Ezra had had in his mind. His office was comfortably furnished, and pictures of a smiling red-haired woman holding a small child graced the desktop. In short, it was a homey place, and Ezra automatically felt ill at ease. Homey places just reminded him of the lack of home his childhood had had.

Ezra perched on the edge of the armchair, fiddling with the bandages around his still-raw throat. The bandages wrapped around his torso were an uncomfortable reminder of the weakness he'd succumbed to, and any careless movement pulled at the stitches in his stomach. At least he was dressed in something other than that embarrassing hospital gown, even if it was sweatpants that he suspected someone had bought, since he was sure he'd never owned such an item of clothing.

Jude sighed. Ezra had been sitting in silence for the past five minutes, since arriving as per Melinda Russell's orders. Jude had been warned about the stubbornness of the ATF team known as the Magnificent Seven, but he hadn't quite believed the stories. Now, if Ezra Standish was any indication of the rest of the team, he believed every word of them.

He leaned forward. "Ezra. We're not going to get anywhere if you don't talk to me."

"I believe I'm required to attend one session with you before I am discharged," Ezra said coolly. "I'm here. That doesn't mean I have to talk."

Jude sighed again. So it was going to be _that_ way. Sometimes he hated his job.

"I can't give you a clean bill of health if all you're going to do is sit there and shuffle those cards," he said as Ezra pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. "Like it or not, Ezra, Dr. Russell seems to think that you need counseling and she's not going to be happy if all I can say about our session is that I would have had ample opportunity to catch up on my paperwork."

"Fine," the Southerner snapped, putting the cards away. "What do you want me to say? That I know it wasn't my fault I was captured? That I know I couldn't have done anything to help JD? I already know both of those things, Dr. Nichols, so really there's little point in me being here. I don't blame myself, I don't blame JD. I blame the man and woman who abducted us, and they're beyond my reach now, being dead and comatose respectively. I don't feel any burning need for revenge; at the moment all I really desire is to be at home, away from all these damn prying eyes!"

Jude almost smiled. Finally an emotion cracked the stoic mask, even if it _was_ misplaced anger. And just having Ezra say something was enough for him to see behind the mask to the confused, hurting man beneath. Now if he could just get that man to let him help . . .

"I know this sounds cliché, Ezra, but humour me. What are you feeling right now?"

Ezra gave him a look of disbelief. Jude repeated the question, and the ATF agent sighed and answered.

"Annoyed. Bored. In a minor amount of pain. Uncomfortable. Tired of being asked how I feel. That about sums it up."

Jude pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ezra."

The agent exhaled, dropping his head into his hands. When next he spoke, his voice was muffled by his hands.

"Guilty as hell that JD was injured so badly and I escaped with the lesser injuries I sustained. Frustrated because the nightmares won't go away, and that makes me feel weak. Confused."

Finally. "Why do you feel confused?"

"I keep having nightmares and thinking that Caine's just behind me, but I know she's comatose and not even in this hospital. I know that there wasn't anything I could have done to protect JD but I still feel as though it's my fault he was injured so badly. There's so much going on inside my head and I don't know if I can deal with it all right now."

"That's why I'm here. I can help you deal with it," Jude told him. "Everything you've just said, it's perfectly natural for you to feel that way. It's why Dr. Russell recommended you see me in the first place. I can help you work through what you're feeling until you think you're ready to scale back on the sessions."

Ezra looked at him thoughtfully, toying with the white bandages around his throat. Jude caught a glimpse of still-raw skin and hid a grimace; that had to hurt. Asphyxiation was one of the more traumatic things a human could experience; no wonder Ezra was having nightmares. 

Ezra nodded finally. "All right. We'll see how this goes."

*************************************************************************************

Josiah and Nathan came to give Chris time to sleep, eat and shave, not long after Ezra returned from seeing the psychiatrist. The afternoon had been awkward; JD had muttered a few answers to Chris's comments and gazed out the window, his eyes distant. Chris knew that if they didn't break the apathy that his youngest agent was feeling, they were going to lose JD.

When Josiah and Nathan kicked him out, Chris headed to the car park. Much as he hated to admit it, he was exhausted. Nursing two injured ATF agents was hard, and he once again found new respect for the nurses and doctors.

Upon reaching the car park, he stopped short. Vin was leaning on the waist-high wall, looking over the city. He was as still as if he were sniping, the motion of breathing and the breeze playing with his hair the only movement. Chris watched for a few moments before he realised that Vin's breathing wasn't steady and even; it was hitching, as though he had just been running . . . or – crying?

"Vin? You okay?" he asked, moving forward. The sharpshooter cursed and swiped at his eyes, not looking at Chris.

"I'm fine, cowboy. Just wanted to get some air."

__

'There's more bothering him than cabin fever. He's taking this a lot harder than the other guys, even Buck.'

Chris moved up beside Vin and leaned on the wall, looking sidelong at his friend. "You don't have a shift tonight. You should be at home, getting some rest."

Vin whirled around, his expression a mixture of incredulity and anger. "Rest, while he's lettin' himself die in this damn place?! How am I supposed to rest, Chris?"

__

'I was right. Now how do I get him to admit it to himself?'

Blunt seemed the best option; neither man appreciated dancing around issues, and Chris knew that he was bad at playing the subtlety game. He came right out and asked.

"When're you going to tell him, Vin?"

Vin's reply was a bark of bitter laughter. "There's nothin' to tell."

Chris sighed. "I'm not good at this sort of thing. I don't get the spiritual and emotional stuff; Josiah's better at that than I am. But I was the one who noticed what's going on with you, so I'm gonna deal with it."

"Deal with what?"

"You. JD. You care for him," Chris said bluntly.

"Of course I care for him. I care for all of you," Vin said stubbornly, refusing to meet Chris's gaze.

"Damn it, Vin, that's not what I mean and you know it. You're damn good at hiding what you don't want the rest of us to see, but something as strong as what I think you feel for JD can't be so easily hidden."

Vin finally met his gaze, his eyes full of indecision and anguish. "You know what Feds are like, Chris. How can I subject him to that? Anyone who's not on the straight an' narrow gets hell in the Bureau. Anyway, it's not like I know he feels the same way or anythin'."

"No harm in asking, is there?"

Vin laughed, a shadow of his normally cheerful chuckle. "He's not gonna look at me the same if it turns out he doesn't . . ."

"Vin, this is JD we're talking about. Even if he doesn't reciprocate, he's sure as hell not gonna care whether you like guys or girls," Chris said impatiently. "You're never going to find out if you keep avoiding the issue."

"You're startin' to sound like Ez."

"Damn it, don't change the subject! Just answer me honestly, Vin, do you love him or don't you?"

The car park was filled with silence as Chris stared Vin down, waiting for the answer. The sharpshooter exhaled and nodded.

"Yeah. I reckon I do."

"Then for Christ's sake, tell him. You said it yourself, Vin, he's letting himself die in here. He needs something to hold on to."

Vin gazed at the setting sun, indecision chasing fear across his face. "What if it's not enough?"

"You've gotta try, Vin. You'll hate yourself if you don't do anything, you know that. And if there's the slightest chance that it'll help JD, how can you not try? You're braver than that."

A chuckle escaped the sharpshooter's lips. "Hell, Chris, you been takin' lessons from Josiah? I never thought I'd see the day when you got involved in your colleague's love lives."

"When said colleagues are as stubborn as you and JD, I don't have much of a choice," Chris shot back, allowing a grin to slip across his face. "You gonna go in and talk to him?"

Vin nodded. "Yeah, reckon I might do that. Who's on duty tonight? Nate an' Josiah? They should be okay lettin' me talk to JD alone, don'tcha think?"

"If they're not, tell them I want to talk to them. Now stop wasting time, Vin, and get in there."

The sharpshooter chuckled again and made a sloppy salute. "Aye, sir . . . wish me luck, yeah?"

"Don't believe in luck . . . but good luck anyway. Bring our boy back."

**************************************************************************************

JD was half-listening to Josiah and Nathan as they bantered back and forth, making an effort to include him in the conversation every few sentences. He'd tried to raise some enthusiasm at their company, but it just didn't come. He felt as though his mind was dosed with the same morphine that kept his body numb for the – what was it, twelve days since their rescue?

He knew that there was something wrong with his thought processes, that this apathy was dangerous. He knew that he should be glad that they'd been found, worried about Ezra – someone had taken Ezra somewhere that afternoon, and he knew that should worry him but it didn't – annoyed that he had to stay in hospital this long. But he didn't feel any of that. It was as though Mikhail and Caine had killed whatever it was that made people feel.

He shuddered at the thought of those two, and Josiah was immediately at his side. "JD? You okay?"

"Mmph." A noncommittal grunt, eyes fixed on the window. Pretend to be watching the clouds. Clouds? There were no clouds in the sky – when had it gotten so dark? How long had he been thinking about Mikhail and Caine and not feeling anything?

Long enough Vin to be back, even though he did a shift last night and should be resting now. The sharpshooter sauntered into the room, looking somehow less than at ease, and said, "You mind if me'n JD have a little chat, fellas? Go and get somethin' to eat, some of the swill this place calls coffee, give us a little while, yeah?"

JD knew Nathan cracked a grin as he replied, "You mad at us or something, Vin? I wouldn't wish cafeteria coffee on anyone."

Sounds as Josiah and Nathan left the room. A creak as Vin sat in the chair near the bed. Silence. Normally JD would wonder why Vin had asked Nate and Josiah to leave if he was just going to sit there and not say anything, but wondering was beyond him right now.

His hands felt heavy –

__

No! Don't think about his hands. Can't.

A sigh, and Vin leaned into his line of sight. "You'n me have some stuff to talk about, JD. Got some things I need to say to you, and then I reckon it's about time you talked to one of us properly. You can cuss me out, or hit me, or whatever makes you feel better, but I'm not lettin' you kill yourself like this."

JD blinked. He wasn't trying to kill himself . . . right?

"Now, I know you're thinkin' that I'm full of it, that you're not killin' yourself. But you're just lyin' there, JD, you're not eatin' or drinkin' or tryin' to get better. I'm not sayin' this to try an' put any blame on you, 'cause this is nobody's fault except those bastards who hurt you. But if you keep goin' this way, you're gonna let them win. An' I can't let you self-destruct like that."

Something about the way he said that was . . . different. Different to the way Chris would have said it, or Nate, or even Buck. JD moistened his lips and looked at Vin, really looked at someone for the first time in twelve days.

"Can't let me . . .?"

Vin's eyes were full of pain, and that startled JD. Other people shouldn't be hurting because of him, least of all his friends. He went to touch Vin's arm and glimpsed the thick white bandages on his hands.

Oh, God, his hands . . .

Despite wanting to make sure Vin was okay, JD couldn't tear his eyes away from his hands. This was what he'd been avoiding for twelve days; avoiding thinking about his hands, and what Mikhail and Caine had done to them. They felt heavy, and he couldn't distinguish separate fingers. His arms may as well have ended at his wrists for all the feeling there was in his hands.

It was all too easy to remember them the way he'd seen them last; twisted, mangled by blades and burns and broken bones, crimson blood interrupted by ivory spikes of the small bones sticking through his skin. The bandages kept him from seeing the damage now, but it was in the forefront of his mind. A stifled sob escaped his throat as he stared at his hands, scared half out of his mind that he'd lose the one thing that made him useful to the team.

Gentle arms enfolded him, and the clean smell of Vin's hair. "Not sure whether this is an improvement on the silence, but cry if you need to, JD. God knows I'd be doin' the same thing, if I was in your situation. The docs are pretty confident, though. They reckon you'll be fine."

The spasmodic sobbing continued as JD fought against more images flooding his mind. Images of Ezra strangling, of the blood from that horrible head injury. Images of the brands and blades that Mikhail and Caine had used to try and break him. None of it had worked until they went to work on his hands. It had hurt, worse than any pain he'd felt before, but he'd known that he'd heal, given time, and that even if he was laid up for a while, he could still be useful to the team with his computer skills. Maybe they'd known that, and that's why they saved his hands for last.

After some time, JD calmed somewhat, the harsh sobs giving way to stilted breathing. Vin shifted slightly, though keeping his arms around the younger man, and spoke.

"JD, I got somethin' I gotta tell you. Not sure if now's the right time, but I gotta do it before I get the chance to talk myself out of it."

JD looked at him, eyes still red and swollen from crying. "Sounds serious."

"It is. See, the thing is . . . I kinda . . . shit! I'm not good at this."

Throwing up his hands in frustration, the sharpshooter got rid of the need to explain things by taking JDs face in his hands and kissing him thoroughly. JD was still with shock at first, but after a few moments he relaxed enough that Vin was sure he wasn't going to slug him the moment he pulled away.

When he did pull away, an unreadable expression was on JD's face. The dark-haired man licked his lower lip, gazing at Vin. For his own part, Vin waited to see what JD's reaction would be, the tension making him sweat. JD kept looking at him with that odd expression, until Vin wished he'd never come in here today.

"That was . . . informative."

Informative. Vin's heart sank; informative was hardly what he'd been hoping for.

"How . . . how long've you been waiting to do that, Vin?"

The question was tentative, the tone not quite curious, not quite hopeful. Vin figured the best idea was to answer truthfully.

"A couple months now, I reckon. Can't say for sure when I first . . . _noticed_ . . . you, but I reckon I've been wantin' to kiss you for at least a couple months. Never got the guts to do it, before."

"What made you decide to do it now?" JD asked. No condemnation in his voice, just sincere inquiry; he wanted to know why Vin chose _now_.

"Seein' you the way you were, not carin' if you lived or not . . . just about killed me, JD. I had to give you somethin' to hold on to. That, an' Chris pretty much threatened to kick my ass if I kept it to myself any more."

JD looked confused now. "Chris knows?"

"Yeah. Found me out in the carpark, givin' myself a headache wonderin' whether to tell you or not."

"You know, you haven't actually _told_ me anything. Just gave me one hell of a kiss."

Vin glared at JD. "Are you teasin' me?"

"That depends. Are you going to kiss me again?"

"You _are_ teasin' me."

JD's expression turned somber. "Hell, Vin, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just . . . I gotta keep my mind off this, you know? If I let myself think, then I keep thinking about what'll happen if my hands are wrecked. I'm the computer guy, I'm nothing without my hands. I –"

Vin silenced JD by kissing him again. He pulled back slightly and smiled. "No. You're not nothin', JD, no matter what happens. I wouldn't've fallen in love with you if you were nothin'."

"In l-love?" JD stammered. Vin would have laughed at the stunned look on his face, if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"Yeah, in love. What, you thought I just wanted to kiss you and leave it at that?"

"Wouldn't've been the first time someone did," JD mumbled, averting his eyes. Vin caught the younger man's chin and made JD look at him.

"Who did that to you?"

JD squirmed under Vin's scrutiny, but when the sharpshooter refused to release him he sighed and answered, "A guy back in the Police Academy. He liked guys, but he insisted that he was straight. Slept with three or four girls a week to prove that he was straight, then made the moves on guys at nightclubs on Friday nights. I was at one of the nightclubs he went to, and he kissed me. Acted like nothing happened when I saw him on Monday. Can't blame him, really; you know what cops can be like. He didn't want to deal with that. It hurt, though."

Vin's emotions were going two ways, which was confusing to say the least. He was angry at whatever cop it had been who hurt JD, but he was elated at the same time, because this was proof that JD _wasn't_ completely straight. Oh, he knew the younger man couldn't be completely gay either, otherwise he wouldn't be going out with . . .

"Oh, shit. Casey."

JD exhaled. "Yeah. I don't want to hurt her, you understand that, right?"

"Of course! I don't know what I was thinkin', tellin' you this when you're in a relationship with Casey. Hell, it's just plain luck you didn't kick my ass out the door."

"I'm not gonna pretend like nothing happened today, Vin. I definitely have . . . there's a lot to work out. I think you guys need to ask Casey to come in here tomorrow. There's some stuff we have to talk about."

Vin nodded. "Yeah, I reckon there is. I'll call her tonight, if you want. We've been keepin' her up to date with what's been goin' on, but . . . well, Chris didn't think she should see you the way you were."

JD closed his eyes, fighting back tears. "I didn't want to remember. If I thought about it, I thought about my hands and I kept running through what Chris'd say if I couldn't use them properly. Kept thinking about being asked to leave the team because I couldn't be the computer guy anymore."

"Chris wouldn't do that, and that you'd even think so shows that you've got a lot to sort out in your mind," Vin said carefully, choosing his words so as not to upset JD. "Promise me you'll see that Dr. Nichols that Ezra's seein'?"

JD sighed. "All right. I have to admit, the way I've been lately . . . it kinda scares me. I didn't think it was possible to live without feeling. This's gonna be hard, Vin. I don't know if I can . . ."

"We're here for you," Vin promised. "All of us are behind you."

**************************************************************************************

Nobody was sure what happened during JD's session with Jude; at JD's request, Jude didn't make a tape of the session or write down anything. The office door was closed for the hour, and the low murmur of words could be heard, though nothing could be made out. JD had returned to the room he was sharing with Ezra at the end of the hour with a thoughtful expression on his face, and though he was quiet for the rest of the morning he did at least participate in the conversations going on around him. This quietness seemed to be more due to having a lot on his mind, rather than apathy. Ezra and Buck and Vin, the two on duty that day, seemed relieved at the change, though none of them mentioned it.

Casey showed up in the afternoon, toting coloured balloons and boxes of candy. At the confused looks her burdens earned, she explained, "My friends and Aunt Nettie wanted you to have something to cheer you up in here. Plus a couple of the girls think that Ezra's too good-looking to be single and are trying to make good impressions," she added, winking at the Southerner. She went to JD's bedside and kissed him. "I've been aching to come and see for myself that you're okay. Not that I don't trust the rest of you, but . . . well, it's one thing to hear, a completely different thing to see for yourself."

JD returned the kiss, then said, "Cass, can we talk? There's some stuff we need to get into the open."

She nodded, looking confused. "Sure. The balcony?"

"Sounds good."

They went out onto the balcony and closed the door behind them. The men inside the hospital room could see the two talking, but no words filtered in. JD said something that made Casey frown and glance at Vin, but she didn't seem angry, just confused. Their conversation went on for a good hour, during which Ezra managed to rope Vin and Buck into a game of poker, politely pretending that JD and Casey weren't outside.

An hour after they'd gone out to the balcony, Casey opened the door. "Vin, you mind joining us for a minute?"

Vin glanced nervously at JD, who was looking over the edge of the balcony, and threw down his cards. "Why not? I'm losin' here anyway," he said, standing up and walking over to the door. Casey closed it behind him and they both sat down. JD looked up, and instead of the rejection Vin had expected there was something . . . else. Casey didn't look angry, like he'd expected, either.

"I'm guessin' JD told you 'bout what I said yesterday?"

"He did," Casey affirmed. "We had a lot to talk about."

"Look, I wasn't thinkin' when I said that yesterday – JD's with you, an' he's happy –"

"Vin. Will you please let me talk?" Casey said gently. "Yes, JD told me that you love him. And yes, it did surprise me. But I do admire your good taste. Now, me and JD were talking about a way to deal with this without anyone getting hurt. I know I love JD, and I believe that _you_ love JD. As for JD –"

"JD loves both of you," JD interrupted. "I don't want to leave Casey, but if you don't mind sharing me with her, Vin, then I'd . . . I'd love to be with you as well."

Vin gaped at the two younger people, stunned that they'd come up with this plan. He'd never have thought of it, probably because he'd never felt quite this way about anyone before, let alone another man with a girlfriend. He was suddenly aware that JD was twisting his hands together in his lap, messing up the bandages. He reached out and stilled the movements, his hand meeting with another, smaller, feminine hand.

Vin and Casey looked at each other and started laughing. JD shook his head. "Wonderful. Now I've got Buck to mother me, and you two to take over when he's not around. Vin, were you planning on answering me?"

Vin answered by leaning forward and kissing JD, gentler than the night before, a reassurance instead of a declaration. He was aware that Casey was watching them with a smile on her face, and then both men were engulfed in the young woman's hug.

"I take it that's a yes?" she said softly. Vin broke away from JD and smiled at her.

"Yes, that's a hell yes. If you're sure this's all right with you, Casey. This isn't the most orthodox arrangement."

"Oh, who cares about that?" she asked impatiently. "This way you're happy, I'm happy and JD's happy, and that's what's important, isn't it?"

Vin worried at his lower lip in concern. "You reckon the others are gonna have a problem with us?"

"I don't think so," Casey said confidently. "You guys, you're closer than anyone I've ever known. You're not going to let a little thing like sexuality come between you."

"We're going to have to decide what to tell them pretty fast," JD said suddenly, looking back at the dividing window between the balcony and the room. Casey and Vin turned to see Ezra and Buck staring at them, cards forgotten.

"Oh boy."

**************************************************************************************

The End

Thanks to those who stuck around to see this finished; if you're interested, I might be writing a follow-up piece to this. After all, there is some unfinished business. I just felt that the end was dragging, and I wanted to finish it before I got frustrated and dumped the whole thing. If you're interested in a sequel, let me know and I'll consider it. Again, thanks to my readers. Your reviews gave me the courage to keep writing and posting.


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